The Spartan and the Spiral King
by Mr. Sparkles
Summary: The Story of Lord Genome, told in a Halo universe with crossovers from Code Geass and Gundam 00 and just about everything.
1. Chapter 1  Rebirth

Prologue

_And there, there overhead, there, there hung over__  
><em>_Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes,__  
><em>_There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover,__  
><em>_There with vast wings across the cancelled skies,__  
><em>_There in the sudden blackness the black pall__  
><em>_Of nothing, nothing, nothing - nothing at all._

-Aleister Macleish,

"The End of the World"

"Screening Shields are on Class Eight."

"Mirror armor plating is currently detached."

"Block 3685 on the _Setsuna F. Seiei_ has been hit, atmosphere leaking."

"Damage?"

"Currently minimal, but their engines are exposed now."

The man who stood on the helm of the G.F.S. _Cathedral Terra_ merely grinned. "Hold Steady, men. It's time for us to show the Anti-spirals who they're dealing with. Prepare to fire our MAC again."

"Yes, Milord, releasing current…firing." For a second, the bridge dimmed as, with a noticeable shudder, the _Cathedral Terra_ released a glowing yellow bolt of light from its prow. One of the officer sitting at the monitor turned to the man. "Ashtanga-class in Sector 12 destroyed…" The officer grinned. "Finally…after decades of war…we'll be able to meet them face to face."

The man known to some as Lord Genome merely smiled. "Of course we will. Who the Hell do they Think We Are?"

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1 – Rebirth<span>

"_You've got to learn to survive a defeat. That's when you develop character."_

-Richard Nixon

U.S. President, (1913-1994)

**April 2544**

**Miridem**

"Guam, did you find something?" The boy blinked dust from his eye as he walked over to the little Armadillo and the hole it had scratched out of the ground. With dusty but steady fingers, the boy picked up the small conelike object partially buried in dirt. "…A Drill?" From the house, his mother called. "Jean, its time to eat." The boy stood up to return – just as a shadow passed over the home. He looked up at the sky wonderingly – just as the first bulbous ships entered the orange sky.

* * *

><p>The invasion of Miridem took people by surprise. It shouldn't have. Of course everybody followed the news – the first defeats at Madrigal, the destruction of Hat Yai and Eridanus II. Everyone had cheered as Admiral and Knight of Rounds Preston Cole had routed the enemy at Alpha Aurigae, XI Bootis A, Groomsbridge 1830, and Harvest, and when Vice Admiral Danforth seized victory with his Knightmare frames at the Atlas Moons, and at the Superhuman SPARTANS. Everyone had stood in silence after the destruction of Jericho VII and after Cole's final stand at Psi Serpentis. Some had cried. But nobody had truly considered the possibility that the alien alliance called the Covenant would appear above their own planet of Miridem. The five outdated frigates that had protected the planet had proved little hindrance for the Third Fleet of Glorious Consequence, and before they knew it, the Covenant was on the streets of Miridem City itself. Some met their end stoically, sitting silently in their homes. Others fled to their homes, their churches, their mosques, in the hopes of some kind of deliverance. Knightmare Squadron Commander Adrian Soresi decided he did not really care for either as he drove his GN-XIV past the wreckage of a burnt church.<p>

"Grey Leader here, Sector 13-4 clear. We're moving onto 13-3."

"Copy, friendlies moving up at six o'clock."

Soresi took a quick glance at the rear camera screen. Two other GN-XIVs formed up behind him. Humanoid in appearance, the Knightmare Frame (more commonly known as the Gundam) had been employed by humanity since the Sakuradite Wars of the 2000's, and in a war in which UFNSC starships were so deficient in speed, armor, firepower and maneuverability, they were one of the few advantages humanity had.

"Sir?"

Soresi was interrupted from his thoughts by one of his wingmen.

"Yes, Grey Two?"

"Our Fleet is gone…so why haven't they glassed us yet?"

Soresi shuddered at the thought. Glassing – the utter destruction of a world, and the ultimate fate of every planet that had fallen to the Covenant. Normally, the Covenant would proceed to glass the planet within hours of naval Superiority. Soresi thanked his lucky stars that he had been assigned to Miridem.

"I don't know, private—but I say we make the best of it." But Soresi knew. _As long as Dr. Halsey is kept safe, Miridem is safe._ Dr. Catherine Halsey – the mastermind behind the SPARTAN program – the highly-publicized success story for humanity. With Admiral Preston Cole's death, the SPARTAN program provided a glimpse of hope in a sea of disappointments. Soresi, as a Section III officer of the Office of Naval Intelligence, had witnessed firsthand the SPARTANS in battle on the Atlas Moons. Those superhuman feats on the vids were not Special Effects. If Dr. Halsey was captured, the Covenant could ensure the end to the SPARTAN program, to say the least – if not more. _They Chose the right time._ With most of Halsey's SPARTAN security detail serving on another mission with Vice Admiral Tursk's 3rd fleet, Halsey's protection was contingent on Section III Personnel and a unit of ODST's—and while Soresi did not the underestimate the skill and bravery of the Helljumpers, he knew they were only Human.

"Grey Two, our priority is protecting this city and holding them off until reinforcements arrive from New Madrasa. Let's cut the chatter."

Soresi glanced at the sky at the black beetlelike shapes that blocked out the dimming sun. It was only a matter of time until headquarters fell—would the 3rd fleet arrive in time?

* * *

><p>"This is an Emergency Broadcast by the United Federation of Nations Army. All Citizens, please remain calm and stay alert. Take only what you can carry and proceed to the secondary school. The Army will be there to protect you, and transports to the spaceport will arrive every fifteen minutes. I repeat, please remain calm and stay alert. Take only—" like most calls for people to stay calm, this call went unheeded where there were no soldiers to enforce the order. Everyone knew that the army was not going to prevent the Covenant from just glassing the place. And, unfortunately for the Teppelins, there were no policemen or soldiers in their vicinity. "Elsie, take Jean to the car. If I'm not there in three minutes, leave without me." <em>We need to get out of here.<em> Christopher Teppelin hurriedly wrenched open the refrigerator as he piled what he could into the box in his hands. Outside, the dim, constant rumble that was the sound of the ground battle seemed to permeate the room. _It's like the Covenant is hunting me._ Unlike his father or his brothers, he did not feel obligated to join the UFN Armed forces, as his family had done since the Sakuradite Wars. _And look where it got them. _Jack had died at Groomsbridge, and Allen had met a similar fate at Charybdis IX. In moving to Miridem, he had abandoned his pride, the respect of his family, and probable certain death in the hopes of protecting his family. _And the Covenant won't even let me have that? _Kicking the door open, Teppelin ran to the bright yellow civilian warthog, where his wife, Elsie, waited at the wheel. "I'm almost a minute late, you should have left," he yelled (though naturally he knew he didn't mean it). Elsie simply smiled weakly as she shifted to the backseat. Without buckling his seat-belt, Teppelin floored the pedal – and felt the rewarding jolt as the warthog lurched onto the road. Though this warthog was a scaled down version of the ones used by the UFN Military, it still had a sense of power to it, a sense of sturdiness and safety. The warthog gave a loud bellow as he struck the horn, causing a few countrymen to leap aside as the heavy vehicle skidded onto the road – and then almost sidelined a bus. Screeching to a halt, Christopher nearly cursed aloud as he realized the length of the pileup in front of him. Every person with a car was now fleeing for the spaceport, with pedestrians doing their best to climb on – and so, naturally, a traffic jam ensued. "Fuck," Christopher muttered quietly as he turned around. "You two alright?" Christopher regarded his wife and child. Jean Teppelin shared the wispy, almost white hair of his mother. He did not seem particularly perturbed by the chaos around him as he poked at his pet Armadillo, Guam, with what looked like a small drill on a loop of string. Somewhat small for his age, Christopher had nevertheless seen him outpace his larger peers. _Not everyone has a 6-year old in 5__th__ grade._ Elsie, meanwhile, smiled back, her white hair blowing behind her like some kind of angelic aura. "We're alright, Chris." Christopher smiled as best as he could before adding the sound of the Teppelin family Warthog's horn into the tumult. The only result of this was that the passengers of the flatbed in front of him began gesticulating with their middle fingers. Chris hoped Jean didn't see that. Muttering under his breath, he looked up—just in time to see the purple, bulbous head of a Covenant fighter descending over the traffic column. "Elsie, Jean, get off the—"

* * *

><p>"Grey Four, activating Trans-am!"<p>

"Copy. Grey Six, cover him!"

"—Grey Three, moving to assist—oh shit, tangos at four o'clock—"

"—Red Team currently requesting assistance—"

"—Repeat, this is overlord. All Knightmare units are to fall back towards UFNSC Headquarters—"

"Captain, they're ordering us to go back!"

Captin Adrian Soresi's GN-XV squeezed off a burst of cannon fire at a passing Banshee as he did his best to control his subordinates. "We'll go back when we get these split-faced bastards off our backs!" _IF we can get these bastards off our backs._ His own Gundam's power levels were not high, and damage to the tau drive that kept the knightmare frame running meant that it was now leaking energy. He had lost almost half of his unit of ten knightmares, and the rest were hardly in better shape. Trans-am, while temporarily tripling the performance potential of a knightmare, quickly exhausted the Tau drives and left the pilot with a weakened knightmare. From what he had heard from fellow ONI members, glassing had began outside Miridem City. _So they know where Halsey is now._ There was still no word from the third fleet, and the few refugee transports that had gotten out of orbit had been promptly shot down. Worse still, he and his unit were trapped, the rest of the UFN Army having long since evaporated (or been evaporated). With a jolt, the GN-XV pitched forwards as the sound of sizzling announced that it had been struck from behind by plasma. With a unit of grunts shooting at him from in front and a ghost from behind, there was only one thing Adrian could do. "Trans-am, activate."

* * *

><p><em>Fire. Smoke. <em>

_Smoke everywhere._

_Everyone's running._

_Mom and dad…_

_Blood._

_Help._

_Don't leave us here._

_I don't want to die._

Like a drunk, the boy staged out from under the wreckage of the destroyed Warthog. He glanced at the blood that dripped from his left arm. It wasn't his. Everything sounded muffled, like something far away. The boy barely registered the gently pulsating and glowing drill that dangled from his arm. He simply felt himself drawn to the glowing object that lay in a crater nearby, unearthed by a stray plasma bolt. He drifted past the bodies of the flatbed passengers who only moments ago had been making hand signs at his father, and the burnt, spent-out fuel rod that had been stabbed into the ground. The ground around it smoked, obliterated by the blast of superheated plasma. But the knightmare – if it could be called a knightmare – was unharmed. But at the moment, logic for Jean Teppelin had long since been kicked the curb. He only one thing in mind, and that was to do as much damage as he could.

* * *

><p>In its infancy, the Knightmare frame had been nothing more than an ejection seat meant to preserve the life of the pilot. Now the GN-XV fulfilled this purpose once again as Adrian Soresi ejected from the damaged mecha. Its roller-skate like landspinner propulsion gear now locked up, the hulk of the gundam collapsed to the ground as Soresi struggled out of the ejection cockpit. "Over here, captain!" One of his fellow pilots beckoned to him from a ruined building, pausing to fire a burst of fire from his assault rifle. Most of the knightmares had long since ejected – their Tau drives had not been completely charged when they had entered battle, and anyone who had activated trans-am would have long since expended their batteries. Adrian paused to grab his own rifle—just as he felt a plasma bolt shooting overhead with a sizzle and a burst of intense heat. <em>Way too close!<em> He could hear the high-pitched gabbering of the tiny grunts, the expendable light infantry of the Covenant, from behind the pod, now closing in. Reaching towards his side for a long, canister-like grenade, he hurled it over the pod into the air, covering his ears as he yelled "Flashbang!" Moments later, the high-pitched whine of a flashbang's wake filled Adrian's ears as he sprinted for the ruined building where his fellow pilots were willing him on. Adrian could almost feel time slow down as the quick frenzied beats of his heart slowed from a tango to a slow bossa nova. Unlike the marines, the knightmare corps did not wear any armor – one hit and he would be barbecued. He took a quick glance at his pursuers—and saw, with a burst of sweat, an Elite—with a fuel rod gun. "OH SHI—" Egged on by his new, more dangerous pursuer, he ran with renewed speed—just in time, as the incapacitated grunts began firing once again with their light-green plasma pistols. With an almost painful impact, Soresi felt his heartbeat penetrate into his skull as he traced the slow progress of the bright-green fuel rod into the air—slowly sizzling past the escape pod—arcing down, ever so slowly behind him as it touched the ground—and then Adrian something strike him in the back as he shot forwards—right into the waiting blackness.

* * *

><p>"…Grey four to Overlord, do you copy? Grey four to Overlord, goddammit, do you copy?"<p>

_I guess I'm not dead yet._ In a way, Adrian was relieved—but in another, he was pissed. He didn't appreciate being snatched from the jaws of hades to be thrown back in again. He was still in the middle of a dying city fighting against a vastly superior army with a few handguns. "Captain, you're awake!" There was legitimate happiness in Grey Three's voice as he ran over to Adrian. A native of Tennessee province, Ezekiel James's loud, drawling voice dug into Adrian's skull like a jackhammer. "Ah'm really glad you're alive." Adrian just remembered how nice, considerate, patriotic and religious Ezekiel Jedediah James was – probably why nobody else could stand him.

"Shut up, James, and give me a SITREP."

"It's just Mason, Kigali and Nicolai left. Maxson and Taehoon got killed before they could eject, and Stan got killed after he ejected."

_Bloody Great._ "Who are we facing?" "We've got an awful lot of brutes, a few of those lizard things and elites with fuel rod guns."

"Wonderful."

"Not really, sir."

"…I was being sarcastic, private."

"…oh, sir."

Adrian would have made another sarcastic comment if one of the other survivors hadn't yelled from the upstairs window. "Guys, you need to take a look at this!"

Deciding to disabuse private James later, Adrian ran up the stairs—into the open air. There wasn't much of an upstairs left, save for a wrecked wall where Grey Four, Nicolai Kowalksi, was hiding. Next to him, Troy Mason gesticulated wildly with his rifle.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Mason, what the hell are you yelling at?"

Adrian ran over to Mason, who was grinning a smile that glowed like a fuel rod. Mason merely pointed wordlessly at a knightmare—or what Adrian could try to call a knightmare. "What in god's name is that?"

It was the ugliest mecha Adrian Soresi had ever seen. Though if held at gunpoint, Adrian might refer to the mecha as a knightmare frame, it seemed more like the Head of a knightmare frame-and little else. Short, wide and stubby, the knightmare frame looked like a huge head, complete with angry, lifelike face. Hardly taller than Adrian, the "knightmare" was essentially a metal face, propelled by two short stubby legs and two short arms. Unlike the Gundams/knightmares, which either flew or moved on wheeled landspinners, the "knightmare" waddled on its legged, leaping from place to place as it barreled into the Elite with the fuel rod gun, crushing it into a wall.

"Sir, I don't think he's an enemy," Mason remarked.

Meanwhile, a plasma bolt struck the "knightmare," causing it to tip over precariously. Moments later, a second and third bolt followed as nervous but emboldened grunts began to close in.

"Well, fuck it, let's give him a chance." Leaning over the rubble, Adrian took aim at a nearby grunt with his rifle and fired, the recoil digging the rifle into his shoulder as the rest of Grey Squadron opened fire as well. Troy, as usual, was yelling something only vaguely intelligible as he fired. Most of the other pilots made it a point to mute him from their channels. Ignoring him, Soresi continued firing—and then abruptly was knocked to the ground as the wall behind him exploded. "What the hell?"

"Locusts," Mason yelled over the roar of exploding rubble and the whine of plasma bolts as he crawled off Adrian. "I've been yelling about it the whole time! Don't you ever listen to me?"

"No," Adrian admitted. He took a quick peek around the rubble wall – quadrapedal, bright purple, and armed with a plasma turret, the Locust was not as formidable as the massive and heavily armored Scarabs, but against infantry, they were still overkill. Fortunately for Grey Team, the Locust had its sights set on the "knightmare" that was now rushing towards it with speed that stood at odds with its tiny limbs. Mason took a quick peek over the piece of rubble. "Don't tell me it has some kind of secret weapon—" –and then the "knightmare" tackled the Locust.

"Guess not," Adrian muttered as Mason made his thoughts clear to everyone.

"Short-ass robot guy, all that running and all you can do is try to run him down?"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Resplendent Fervor<em>, 3rd Fleet of Glorious Consequence**

**In Orbit Above Miridem**

The Unggoy communications officer looked up from his display. "Supreme Commander, Thel 'Lodamee has just returned on board with the Human Engineer. He has also reported the death of one of those Cyborg Demon Warriors."

On board the _Resplendent Fervor_ (and dressed fairly resplendently in the golden armor fitting of a Fleet Supreme Commander), Supreme Commander Luro 'Taralumee nodded slowly with satisfaction. _The Capture of a human leader and the death of one of those Demons…_Another success to report to the Vice Cleric of Zeal.

"S-Supreme commander?"

Luro 'Taralumee blinked as the Unggoy brought him back from the glorious prospects of a few more mates.

"What is it," he barked with a hint of annoyance.

"Human ships. Seems like a fleet of them."

Taralumee paused. As of now, he had essentially won a flawless victory, crushing the Human defense fleet, destroying a SPARTAN and capturing a high-profile target. _Perhaps a few more human heads would be the crown jewels to my success._

"Numbers?"

"Fifty-three. Seems like Thirty-three of their smaller ships, thirteen destroyers, and Seven cruisers."

_Hmmm…_With Ten of his thirty-ship fleet posing as decoys for the Miridem System's main fleet, his twenty-odd ships would definitely be a match for the Humans—but it would be a close one, and one with a chance of failure. And neither Luro 'Taralumee nor the Vice Cleric of Zeal would appreciate failure.

"Sahas, order the fleet to withdraw. We're too divided to risk a confrontation."

A Sangheili aide glanced at the Supreme Commander. "If I may, Supreme commander, the odds are in our favor."

"Nala, we would lose most of our fleet."

"With all due respect, Supreme commander, we are prepared to give our lives for victory."

Luro 'Taralumee shook his head. "Our priority is to return the human engineer to the Prophets. Sahas, order the fleet to enter slipspace."

Sahas turned around worriedly. "What about our brothers still on the planet?"

"A Small sacrifice if it means an end to the Demons that have slew so many more of our brothers."

Luro 'Taralumee sighed. Casualties were unwelcome, but the Covenant could afford to lose them—and so could he. _I can always blame them on Thel 'Lodamee._

* * *

><p>Automatically and blindly, the boy deftly manipulated the controls of the Mecha like a trained pilot. And yet, the mecha did not appear to have any kind of weaponry save for its bulk, and the spiral energy bar that wound around the ignition key remained dim and partially lit. Everything seemed to be crushed under a blanket of silence.<p>

_Mom, Dad._

_They're both dead,_ a voice told him.

With a loud lurch, the mecha was blown back as it was struck in the face by a plasma bolt.

_No, they're not!_

_They are – and you'll be soon if you don't get a hold of yourself._

The boy gritted his teeth until they hurt as the mecha continued to shudder. The spiral energy bar was now dropping lower and lower.

_Do you really want to disappear like that? A smear in the dirt?_ The other voice now sounded vaguely taunting.

_No…but what can I do?_

_Fight, of course._

_With what? This mecha is barely worth a thing, and I'm not trained to pilot one of these things—I'm six years old._

…_You're thinking too logically. You need to kick that logic to the curb._

_Aren't we meant to be logical? _

When the voice spoke again, it was layered with nothing with contempt. _Then die, then. You aren't fit to live on. Take your logic with you to the grave._

Slowly, the spiral energy bar began to inch back to the key under the sustained plasma fire. The cockpit began to dim, fading into darkness.

_Maybe this is all the better for you,_ the voice muttered.

The boy's grip on the controls slackened—and then tightened.

_I don't want to die._

"I don't want to die," he said quietly.

"I don't want to die," he repeated, this time aloud.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

Abruptly, the energy bar lit up with green light.

* * *

><p>The Sangheili Major known as Saras 'Wamlikee cursed under his breath. The human robot just wouldn't die. <em>What kind of shield is it using?<em> His Type-33's plasma cannon were coming dangerously close to overheating, and yet the short, stubby robot's green shielding had suddenly renewed itself. It was now standing up despite the barrage of purple plasma bolts that Saras' Type-33 put up. _What in the name of the Gods—_he could feel the coordinated double-pump of his hearts beating in his chest—and, for the first time since he had joined the Third Fleet of Glorious Consequence, he felt an emotion that a Sangheili of the Wamlikee domain was supposed to know—fear. As he fired, he slowly moved the Type-33 back as the robot stood up—started walking—breaking into a run—and then, out of its head grew—_A drill._ Despite the resistance from the other marines, the Type-33's shields were largely intact—but somehow, deep inside him, Saras 'Wamlikee knew that they would not hold against that drill. He forced the Type-33 into a rapid backpedal—and then the drill struck the shields. They only held a moment—and then Saras 'Wamlikee felt himself slammed onto his controls. The last thing he saw was the sky whistling past him—and the ugly, blocky human crafts that filled the sky. _They left without us—"_MAY THE GODS CURSE YOU, LURO 'TARALU—"

* * *

><p>"Holy Shit."<p>

Troy Mason calmly pointed up at the disappearing point that was the "knightmare," trailing a corona of twisted metal that was all that remained of the Locust. Ezekiel James, though, was paying more attention to the sky. "The 3rd Fleet! It's here!" Moments later, a new voice came from Nicolai's transmitter. "This is Vice Admiral Berlin Tursk of the UFNSC 3rd Fleet. I see we're still alive down there. Good Job."

* * *

><p><strong>3 Hours Later<strong>

**Setsuna F. Seiei Spaceport**

Adrian Soresi sighed as he watched another civilian transport lift off, its holds filled to the brim with refugees. Though the Covenant fleet had been driven off, Miridem was as good as gone. With most of its populace dead and its infrastructure ruined, it was not worth being reinforced. "Makes you wonder whether this fight was worth it at all, right?" Adrian turned around—and immediately snapped into a salute. "Commander Taehoon!" Yeon Taehoon returned the salute—the Korean-born ONI officer had his arm in a sling as well. "The Miridem Defense Fleet…a few million civilians and most of the UFNSC Army, along with one of 'them' (Adrian nodded to the reference to a SPARTAN) and Dr. Halsey…we paid too much for this battle." Adrian shrugged. "It wasn't like Halsey was in any mood to restart the SPARTAN program anytime soon…plus I heard Jirons sending SPARTANs to get her."

"True, but…"

"Anyhow, what about that Mecha pilot?"

"Oh yeah, we found him a few miles off Miridem."

"Who was that pilot? And which moron down at R&D developed such an ugly knightmare?"

"It wasn't us, as far as I know—and that knightmare, from what you said, took more plasma than a frigate and came out unscathed. If it was one of ours, R&D did a good job."

"What about that pilot?"

Taehoon shuffled uncomfortably. "Well, you won't believe this…"

" What is it?"

"It's a kid. Some six-year old who somehow found a robot."

"and then destroyed a Locust? What the hell are they going to do to him, give him the medal of honor?"

Taehoon looked away.

"Nah…he was dying when we found him. He's dead now."

"Pity…"

The two men sighed as they watched the fires rage around what was left of Miridem City.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Oprichnik<em>**

**In Orbit Above Miridem**

"Did anyone notice?"

"Nope, everything went well…we switched the kid for a flash clone…troublesome, though."

"Well, I guess that's one more kid to add to Ackerson's great big family."

"Heh…fuck Ackerson."

"Agreed."

"This kids got great things ahead for him."

"None that anyone will know about…Remember what happened to the Alpha and Beta Company SPARTAN-III's?"

"…"

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC 15th Fleet, in Orbit around Reach<strong>

**UFNSC _Ajax_**

Vice Admiral Nicholas Teppelin silently watched the clouds swirl in the world below him from the window of the captain's quarters. He couldn't help smiling slightly. Those pristine skies and clouds were so similar to the home that he had to leave behind at Harvest. Behind him, the door hissed open as an officer stepped in. The smile vanished off Teppelin's face as he responded to the soldier's salute with one of his own. "UFNSC relay, sir, from Miridem."

"Yes, Petty Officer?"

"We had to evacuate the planet due to heavy casualties."

The smoldering cigarette drew symbols in the air.

"Tch, cowards. Anything else?"

"Your son, Christopher Reeve Teppelin and his family are listed as Dead, sir."

"That coward…well, he got what he deserved."

"…I'm sorry, sir."

"Tch, save it for your family. Now Return to your station."

"Yes, sir."

Nick Teppelin waited until the blast doors closed before he quietly put his palm against the glass.

"Tch…So I guess I'm alone, then…?"


	2. Chapter 2  Camp Currahee

**Chapter 2 – Camp Currahee**

_"God is less careful than General Motors, _

_for He floods the world with factory rejects"_

–Mignon McLaughlin,

The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

**Forerunner Archives**

**A.I. Eternal Record – Converted for [Human] Comprehension**

**[98,360 Before Common Era]**

**_Excerpt from "Battle of DM-3-1123 b – Post-battle Speech before the [Council of Stewards]"_**

**_By the Didact_**

_"Fellow Stewards of the Mantle,_

_Seven days ago, our Suppression fleet engaged the anti-spiral disease known as the Flood on the planet of DM-3-1123 b. 149 ships corrupted by the Flood assaulted the planet—and, despite the valiant actions of the [men] who destroyed all the Flood vessels, the Flood entered the planet. _

_Our [men] continued to fight valiantly on the ground, but the flood had long since spread, and [Forerunner] Fleet Command deemed that prolonged engagement would be disadvantageous to the surviving populace._

_Therefore, two days ago, the Fleet of Suppression evacuated over a million civilians from affected areas and then bombarded DM-3-1123 b from orbit. All Flood forces were destroyed in the battle, along with 225 billion of our infected or dead countrymen. _

_Today, I come before you a humbled [man]—humbled by the valor of our fleet, and the great sacrifice made by the citizens of DM-3-1123 b. _

_This is no victory, though it is not defeat. We have lost billions of our countrymen and countless ships and fleets to defend against a fleet that consisted of less than half a [battle group]. Yet we have learned._

_We have learned not to underestimate this menace._

_We have learned not to show mercy._

_We have learned to fight._

_And we will fight. We are the heirs of the [Precursors], the spiral race that has been blessed with both the rights and responsibilities of the Mantle, the stewardship of all peaceful spiral Races. We have committed our share of sins – [devolving] the [humans] and imprisoning the [San 'Shyuum] – but we will learn from our mistakes. It is our duty, as the greatest spiral race, to defend all of our brethren from the threat of The Flood. We have deprived our brethren of weapons in the hopes that we could be the ones who protect them, whether from the [spiral-nemesis] or from fellow races, spiral or not. Now the [humans], the [Sangheili], the [Jiralhanae], the [San 'Shyuum], the Chozo (ERROR – No [Human] Equivalent), the [kig-yar], the Yuuzhan Vong (ERROR – no [Human] Equivalent) and so many more look to us for our protection. We are the great hope of the Galaxy – it is time for us to truly don the Mantle of the [Precursors]. So let us cast away all our old enmities and devote ourselves to the tasks ahead – to be the shining beacon of light that will drive the darkness that is The Flood away from Spiral Civilization._

_May It Be,_

_The Didact."_

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Oprichnik<em>**

**In Orbit Above XF-063 (A.K.A. Onyx)**

_Warm…like a bath. But kind of cold…_

"Wake Up, Jean-G133." The voice was unfamiliar, but that of a man's, mournful, if not completely emotionless.

Jean Teppelin slowly opened his eyes. _Where...?_

He seemed to be looking out some kind of frosty window. On the other side, a rather dull, cold-looking grey room welcomed him. A slightly-flickering young man with the facial complexion of a smurf watched him disinterestedly. Looking around, Jean realized that the window enclosed him, forming a closed glass capsule. He raised his arm to touch the glass—and immediately shivered. The air was frigid, like a freezer. The glass, on the other hand, was warm. Instantly, the capsule opened up as a wave of warm air flooded into the Cryochamber. Jean craned his neck forwards—and blinked. He didn't remember going into the capsule naked. To be exact, he didn't remember going into the capsule at all. The last thing he remembered was being helped out of that robot by a group of soldiers with Guame.

"I see you're awake," the A.I. remarked dryly.

Dressed completely in black and decked in what Jean was pretty sure was eyeliner, the A.I. hardly seemed helpful – in fact, he looked like one of those Death Metal Singers that his father loved watching on the vids. The A.I. didn't seem too annoyed by Jean's lack of verbal response. "When you're ready, your articles are on the table," the A.I. explained as he indicated the table where Jean saw what looked like a folded uniform, along with his Drill necklace and, in a small box—"Guame!"

The armadillo slowly trundled over to the naked boy, who hugged it as the A.I. continued to watch impassively.

"This is kind of disturbing. Put on your clothes already. The others are waiting for you outside."

* * *

><p>"—Asad-G097! Mapenzi-G098! Ash-G099! Falk-G100! Get onboard the red-striped Pelican!"<p>

The landing bay of the _Oprichnik_ was filled with children, each clumped into groups of about 20 or 30. One of the groups was being herded into the belly of one of the three Transport planes at the mouth of the bay, a yellow-striped Pelican. For their identical uniforms and articles, they may well have been students going on a field trip. Jean realized that he was far from the only one carrying something—though none of them carried an Armadillo in a small cage, most of the children carried bags. A few carried larger objects – one particular girl was carrying what looked like a metal baseball bat (judging by the dent, it had been well-used in the past). The soldier who had escorted him took a glance at the name tag on Jean's Chest.

"Jean-G108…you're with that group," the soldier intoned emotionlessly as he pointed at one of the clumps of children. As he quietly walked towards the group, Jean couldn't help noticing the diverse appearances and expressions of the children. Some of them were curiously looking at the bipedal Knightmares or the wedge-shaped Longsword Starfighters that had stood at the side, or at the officer whose megaphone-amplified instructions reverberated through the bay. Some were silently crying or muttering to themselves, and a few silently looked down at the ground or stared blankly at the air, as if they could see something that nobody else could see. If this was a field trip, Jean decided, it was an outing for mental hospital patients. Jean Teppelin had never been a very self-conscious boy, but he looked within the group for someone relatively normal. Deciding he didn't find anyone, Jean sidled quietly to the side of the group, where a blonde girl simply stared vacantly at her hands. She gave no sign of noticing Jean. Feeling as if it was slightly impolite to stare, he gave a nod, a nod she did not seem to notice.

"Err…hello?"

The girl's head snapped up as she caught his eye. Jean immediately froze, even as the girl lowered her eyes to her hands again. For a moment, he had felt like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Yeah…she doesn't talk much."

The female voice startled Jean, and he turned around to see another girl. Like everybody else, she wore the scaled down grey uniforms of the UFNSC Navy. With light-brown skin that contrasted notably from the almost snow-white skin of Jean and the blonde-girl, she could have well been a member of the Covenant from the way Jean stared.

"I tried talking to her," the girl explained, "She just gives you a death-stare…probably she had it really bad compared to us—are you alright? You look kind of out of it too…"

Jean blinked in surprise. Miridem City, almost homogenously from the Britannian Union, did not have much in the way of Racial diversity, and the fact that she seemed almost normal shocked him.

"Err…should I leave you alone…Jean?" The girl seemed worried now as she gave Jean a weird look that brought him back from his reverie.

"No, no, its fine…ummm…" he tried to crane his head over Sathya's crossed arms to look at her ID.

The girl uncrossed her arms to reveal the ID lapel on her left chest. "I'm Sathya…apparently G-124. My Last name is actually Sarasvati, though, from Kailasa. You?"

"Jean Teppelin, from Miridem. But what do you mean by had it really bad?"

"Didn't you ask around? We all lost our parents in the war. Well, not me, but you guys."

Despite the fact that the hanging bay was almost at freezing temperature, Jean felt his face turned hot. There was something insulting about the way in which Sathya had said it—in passing, as if talking about the weather.

"H-how can you just say things like that?"

Sathya blinked—and then turned red as she looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that—" then, suddenly, her faced hardened, as if remembering something. "But, honestly, it doesn't matter what happened to mine."

Jean opened his mouth to speak—just as an ear-splitting siren filled the air. Moments later, the Officer looked around to make sure all the children were watching him.

"Alright, if your ID is anywhere between G100 and G125, prepare to board the Pelican!"

Jean checked his number again. 108—that meant it was his call. Sathya, too, also checked her ID.

"Guess this is our ride."

Taking a sidelong glance at the blonde girl (who didn't seem to have noticed), Sathya leaned over to Jean and whispered, "should we check for her?"

"You do it," Jean replied – he did not look forward to getting what amounted to a stare from Medusa.

"Wuss," Sathya muttered as she sauntered over—dragging Jean with a surprisingly strong grip. "Hey, miss…I think we were called. Do you know your number?"

The girl's head snapped up, and Jean involuntarily shivered—but the girl simply glanced at her Lapel (which read "Samus-G119"). Wordlessly, she stood up and joined the group. Sathya gave an uncomfortable glance at Jean, who returned the glance just as uncomfortably as they piled into the passenger compartment of the Pelican. Silently, the children fought for the window seats, as if they were trying to find their places on a schoolbus. Jean, who was one of the last on, was confronted with a sea of heads, save for one seat—Jean shivered. _And of course it's right next to Samus-G119. _Jean, aware he had no other choice, awkwardly sat down, doing his best to avoid physical contact as he tried to simultaneously telepathically pull the harness from next to Samus-G119 in one hand and hold a box of Armadillo in the other. Already, this was turning out to be a very awkward trip, wherever they were going.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNMC Camp Currahee<strong>

**XF-063, AKA Onyx**

"Those are the new recruits, eh?"

The AI known as Deep Winter grinned as his flickering avatar (an old man with a snowy cape that stood at great odds with the warm weather) "gazed" out the window.

"Don't look like much," The scarred, silver-haired man next to him managed to squeeze out from between two teeth and a large, almost-bulbous cigar.

"Do they ever, Mendez? And don't they always do you proud?" the third man put down his mug of coffee as he walked over to the window.

"They do," Mendez replied shortly.

"Not that you'd ever tell them," the third man pointed out, to Deep Winter's amusement. Even Mendez cracked a chuckle with a little bit of moisture (not easy for someone who had been smoking for the last few decades), something he hid by derisively indicating at some of the new SPARTAN-IIIs.

"What's with the kid with the Rat? Or the one with a baseball bat? What is this, some kind of Fruitcake kiddie picnic?"

Deep Winter shrugged. "Directive S3G-634D specifies that they be allowed to bring a few reminders of the homes and families they lost. Keeps them driven to kill Covenant. Oh yeah, and that's an Armadillo, not a rat."

The third man sighed. "Back in my day, they took everything from us and just told us we were going to be SPARTANs."

Mendez chuckled. "Kurt, you're not nearly old enough to say Back in My Day."

Kurt Ambrose, otherwise known as Kurt-051, turned serious. "Still, they're not too bad a bunch…"

Mendez shrugged. "They're not terrible."

Kurt turned around at the two as he smiled slightly.

"…Let's make them the best yet. For Alpha and Beta."

* * *

><p>"…where are we?"<p>

"Is that a bunker?"

"Reminds me of Greensboro back from home."

"Are they going to kill us?"

"What are you, stupid? I think they woulda done that by now if they wanted to."

"I want to go home…"

"Sissies," Sathya muttered under her breath. Like lint thrown into a washing machine, the children had once again congregated into clumps after the Pelicans had disgorged them from their bellies.

"You'd think that they were four year olds, gawping at trees like they've never seen a fores—Jean?"

Jean, though, was too busy gawping at the trees as if he had never seen a forest—and he hadn't. With its carefully maintained parks, trimmed lawns and suburbs, Miridem City had not exactly been a national park. The smell of a thousand different plant scents, aromas, and stenches, combined with the seemingly endless forest combined to form an environment that (as far as Jean was concerned) may as well have been built by the Covenant.

Sathya gave an exasperated sigh, though she smiled at the same time. Jean reminded her of some of the younger boys in her gang of "Dacoits" back in Kailasa. In an outer-colony mining world such as Kailasa, the gap in wealth between the businessmen who had secured rights to the mines and the men and women who worked in the actual was huge. Many families simply could not afford to have another child, and with colony administration and police completely smothered in bribes, those who could not scrape enough money to leave the lawless planet simply abandoned their children in the streets. The lucky were rescued by NGOs, adopted by rich businessmen or taken in by the few soup kitchens available. Others, like Sathya, formed gangs of thieves, pickpockets and the like referred to satirically as Dacoits, after the mythical thieves of Indian Folklore. Sathya had led one group onto the very streets of New Rajasthan, and she remembered the awe of some of the younger members at the hulking skyscrapers of the city that reached through the haze of chemical smog into the blue skies above. For all his good manners and educated accent, Jean looked like any other street urchin looking up at the metropolis of Rajasthan.

"Come on, Jean, no time to gawp at trees." Sathya gently smacked Jean's head. She almost felt like a parent—after all, many of the children around her looked to be around four, five or six years old—little toddlers for a nine-year old like Sathya. Yet, she didn't find most of them particularly appealing, with their constant whining, like the spoiled, chubby little princelings in Rajasthan City.

"Why'd they drop us in the middle of nowhere?"

"Do you think there are any wild animals here?"

"People live in this kind of place?"

"I want to go home!"

"Not Happening." A voice boomed out over the crowd of children, all of whom immediately turned to the source of the sound—a group of UFNSC officers led by an old, scarred man in UFNSC uniform, and—"No way," a kid gasped.

The Golden reflective visor, the green, full-body armor, the size that easily dwarfed the UNSC officer next to him—even the normally-skeptical Sathya's jaw dropped at the sight of the SPARTAN. Everyone had seen them on TV – the nameless SPARTANS defending Humanity, taking on whole armies of the Covenant and Winning, anonymously putting their lives on the line for civilians. They were the superheroes of humanity, the knights in shining armor that every boy wished he could be. Jean (and the rest of the children) could only gawp as the SPARTAN drew a line with two fingers across his faceplate and then put both his hands on his helmet.

"No way…he's going to pull it off—"

Short Brown hair, green eyes, clean-shaven—Jean felt a twinge of disappointment. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to be underneath the helmet, but this man underneath was too….normal. The head looked tiny, dwarfed by the huge armored body that supported it. A few other children evidently felt the same way.

"I thought they were robots—"

"Is that it?"

Yet, for all their disappointment, their discontent immediately died out as the brown-haired man looked at them gravely. All eyes followed him in silence as he gravely regarded each of them—and then broke into a smile.

"Hey, you all."

An asian boy near Jean leaned over and whispered, "They talk?"

"Yes, we talk." Jean and the asian boy both jumped a clear foot in the air as the SPARTAN spoke, smiling.

"Haven't you heard the vids? SPARTANS have super hearing."

All the whispering that had been going on in the crowd immediately stopped. The SPARTAN waited a few moments to see if the silence would remain (it did), and then he spoke.

"Welcome, SPARTAN-IIIs, to Camp Curahee."

Sathya and Jean exchanged glances, both of which said something like _"Did he just call us SPARTAN's?_" Judging by the reaction of the other children, they all felt the same thing—though they didn't dare say it out loud.

"We, the SPARTAN-IIs, were formed 27 years ago. There were 75 of us on that day. Today, there are about 25. We're getting tired. We're getting old. Humanity needs new heroes, new SPARTANs. And that is where you, the SPARTAN-IIIs come in."

The SPARTAN looked at them.

"Every single one of you is an Orphan. Many of you were orphaned by the Covenant. You've seen what they've done—destroying whole planets, killing whole families."

Jean looked down as the SPARTAN continued.

"As SPARTAN-IIs, it has been our duty to fight against that—and now it is your duty to take over.

This road isn't easy. You will face trials, you will face death, you will face difficulty. But you are all capable of succeeding.

Each and every one of you was screened for growth potential. Every single one of you has the potential to be a SPARTAN.

Every single one of you will Be a SPARTAN.

The SPARTAN paused as he glanced at the sky, now a vivid orange. "But you will have to wait another day to be a SPARTAN. Sleep well tonight…you're going to need it in the days to come. I'm Kurt-051. You can call me Kurt Ambrose, or just Kurt. Now I'm going to hand things over to Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez."

On closer inspection, the UFNSC's hair was not black, but a deep gray, the same color of the long creases under his eyes. Unlike Kurt, there was no hint of good cheer on his face, though Jean didn't see anything that suggested cruelty. "I'm Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez. Kurt and I are in charge of making you _Ender's Game_ launchies into SPARTANs. Your training begins tomorrow. Today, though you eat. Captain Denbeck will take you to the mess hall," he said as he gave a nod to Captain Denbeck, a (similarly old) uniformed officer who gave a curt nod. "you will be assigned your bunk and quarters there. Every single man and woman who I have trained has done me proud. All 330 of you are no exception. I expect the best of you. Dismissed."

* * *

><p>"So we're going to be SPARTANs."<p>

Sathya chewed contemplatively. Jean couldn't help but be intimidated as she shoveled half of her plate into her mouth. Judging by the way some of the other children at the table were eating, Sathya's seemed to be the norm. Then again, they seemed to need it more. Jean was easily the smallest at the table—and, judging by the way that meat disappeared from his tray to be replaced by carrots or various other undesired vegetables, people noticed it. Sathya looked especially unsociable as she did her best to give out both her and Jean's share of dirty looks. "Little pricks," she muttered under her breath. Jean never really minded vegetables, but now they seemed to taste terrible as he watched his plate grow from a balanced meal into a salad. Jean could see one of the other children edge towards his plate, eyeing what little non-greens he had left without any pretense of discreetness. Well, children, hardly fit him. Though Sathya was tall, she was still dwarfed by this curly-haired giant of a man. When Jean stared at him, he merely grinned back, as if daring "what are you going to do about it?" in slow motion, Jean watched the hand reaching over the plate at a particularly large piece of meat. He raised his hands in a futile gesture—and then, with the speed of a man fleeing from his mistress's husband, Sathya's hand reached out and snapped shut on the boy's arm.

The boy, Jean and Sathya all froze for a moment as the sounds in their vicinity suddenly and miraculously ceased.

Finally, the boy mustered a glare. "What's your problem, asshole? I found it first!"

"It's his food."

The boy broke into a sneer. "what are you, his mother?"

"Errr…I'm not Hungry, Sathya, and he seems like he didn't quite get enough. You don't need to—"

"Well," Sathya cut in smiling, "I'm definitely not yours…she IS dead, right?"

The boy froze, his mouth halfway broken into a sneer. His mouth gaped open and closed again, like a fish suddenly without water. The hand that Sathya still held had curled into a shaking fist that Sathya was clearly struggling to contain.

"I'm not saying this again. Let go of my hand."

"Let go of his food."

For one moment, it seemed as if both of them would break off—Sathya lowered her gaze, and the boy looked away. Both saw the other's weakness—

Within the blink of an eye, any chance of reconciliation was gone. Sathya's head snapped back from the impact as the boy staggered back, holding his hands to his side. The crowd around them drew back as both of them collected their wits. Jean took a step forwards—and then froze as the words of those around him finally filtered through the sound of rushing blood in his ears.

"Shit, it's a fight."

"That girl shouldn't have screwed with him. Heard what he did to that kid on the Pelican?"

"I WAS that kid," a bandaged boy responded.

Sathya, of course, heard none of this, having now leapt at the boy in a rage. Grabbing a cup of water, she hurled it at the boy's eyes.

"cheap," someone in the crowd jeered.

The boy immediately raised his arm to block the water as Sathya swung her leg into his stomach. Anyone who lived in the ghettos in Kailasa knew that nothing was cheap. In a society where you were valued at less than a refrigerator, cheap was not an insult, but a status symbol. Sathya straightened up as she pulled her leg back. The boy hadn't even doubled over as she had expected, and she leapt back—

With a loud crack, her vision was filled with fireworks. Waiting Hands received her, only to push her back into the ring.

Back into the fight.

Jean felt paralyzed as Sathya leapt back, as if being punched in the face was usual for her. Yet, her opponent seemed less fazed for someone who had been kicked twice. And he was winning. With each hit, Sathya took a little longer to get up—and yet she continued to get up. Jean could only close his eyes.

_What are you doing? _The voice was back again.

…_Not your business._

_I phrased that wrong. What are you NOT doing?_

_Not getting killed?_

_Funny, I recall it was your food that was stolen._

_If she hadn't stopped him…_

_Enough with the excuses._ The voice was as cuttingly condescending as ever. _If you're not going to do anything about it, then the least you can do is watch it. Open your eyes._

_I don't—_

_OPEN YOUR EYES._

Jean's eyes snapped open. The murmur of the crowd had suddenly vanished. The crowd had faded into an insignificant blur—the only thing that mattered was the fight. Everything was now silent save for the slow panting of the two combatants—the crinkle of their uniforms as they undulated to the dances of the combatants—the slow _shaaah_ of each individual strand of sweaty hair slapping on Sathya's face as she turned—the dull thump of impact as a fist collided with her face.

_Watch. That is what happens when you let people fight on your behalf._

Slowly, Sathya leaned back. The blow had hit her under the chin, and for a moment, she floated in the air as her head arched back and then slowly descended.

A few drops of loose sweat and saliva slowly fell to the ground.

For a moment, it seemed like the fight was over.

And then the boy walked over. He had not come out of the battle unscathed—his cheeks swelled, and one eye was puffy and closed—but he walked steadily. With a silent horror, Jean and some of the others realized the implications. He wasn't finished. He silently loped over to where Sathya lay, panting.

_You just going to watch this?_

Jean tried to ignore the voice as the boy raised his foot, a striker ready to kick a soccer ball.

_Your first friend and you're just going to abandon her._

_Goddammit._

_Little sheltered boy curses for the first time. How is that going to help her?_

The boy drew his foot back. With a slow lurch, Jean felt himself going forward.

_Want a front-row view? Guess it can be entertaining,_ the voice taunted.

"_Shut Up."_

_What, and be like you? Watching from the sidelines while your first friend gets the living shit kicked out of her?_

"Shut up," Jean growled under his breath.

_Just like your parents? You just going to sit by while she dies, just like them? Because they're nothing compared to your safety, right? They died for your safet—_

"SHUT UP!"

And, with that particularly profound statement, he leaped into the fray.

* * *

><p>Jean blinked. <em>What just happened?<em> He was leaning against something large and warm, something that was slowly giving way. The wall of flesh toppled as Jean continued to lean onto it. Finally, it crashed over, onto the ground, as Jean straightened himself up. The boy fell, midkick, onto the ground with a crash. Jean took a step back. In retrospect, this hadn't been a good idea. _I just knocked over someone twice as tall as I am._ The boy now got up, visibly angry. "Who the f-ck did that?" Of course, the audience followed their oath of neutrality by all moving away from Jean. _Ohhh crap._

"You did that to me?"

Jean opened his mouth to say No. What came out was "yep."

The boy slowly wiped a bit of blood from a split lip.

"Wanna go the same way as your mom there?"

Jean froze. _Mom._ Mom had protected him on Miridem. Shielding him from the Covenant instead of jumping out of the Warthog. That day, he had lost his only parents, his only friends, because he couldn't do anything.

_And today, I'm going to lose Sathya until I do something._

_Anything._

Jean raised his small fists, a mantis trying to hold back an oxcart. The larger boy ran at him, his fists raised—and then hesitated. For, though he would forget later, he and some of the others saw, for a moment, a glow from Jean's eyes as he ducked under the fist and hit him in the stomach. The boy staggered back, jolted by the unexpected force in that small fist. "You little shit, what were you hidi—" the boy never found out, for at that moment, a metal meal tray laden with food struck him over the head.

"You forgot your vegetables," Sathya muttered as she wiped a few loose carrots off the tray—and the slumped down against one of the benches. Jean leapt over the fallen boy as he took a quick glance at the bruises and cuts that covered Sathya's arms and face, his vision slowly clouding with the burning in his eyes.

"Sathya, you alright?"

Sathya clenched and then unclenched her fists. "I'll live," she pronounced.

"I'm so sorry I just left you there…I should have helped you sooner, or maybe called someone over, or maybe…ouch!"

Jean yelped as Sathya flicked his forehead with her finger. Sathya grinned through a blackening eye.

"How does it feel to stand for yourself, for once, you little bastard?"

Jean blinked—and then smiled back through his tears.

"Great."

* * *

><p>Jean shuffled uncomfortably as he shifted Guame to another position. From the shuffles below him and around him, it seemed like the rest of his dormitory was also having trouble falling to sleep.<p>

The dormitories, of course, were separated by gender. The boy's dormitories were further separated into 30-man rooms, with 15 bunk beds. Jean was assigned to room B1, to a bunk right above a lanky, dark boy with the dubious name of Goodnight-G109. The UFNSC officer had told them to sleep well—but, as anyone who travels often knows, sleeping on the first night in an unfamiliar locale can be difficult. Having given up on trying to sleep, Jean simply watched the night sky from the window next to his bunk. The dark carpet of the forest stood in contrast with the bright streetlights and careful organization of Miridem.

_I guess there's really no going back, is there?_

It seemed almost unreal. It was almost as if he was lying to himself.

_There's no going back._

And suddenly, it hurt. Almost acutely, like a sword. In the chaos of the pelican ride and the orientation, it was easy to forget that you were millions of miles away from home. During the fight, the thought hadn't occurred. But now, in the silence, there were no more masks, no more covers.

_Mom…Dad…_

Miridem was gone, along with his mom and dad. The only thing left was memories…Jean knew that full well. Yet, logic did little to dampen the edge of emotion. Jean did not fight for long against the tears. He knew that boys were not supposed to cry, and it shamed him—but that did nothing to stem the tears.

He was so ashamed of his tears that he didn't notice the 29 other voices sobbing through the night.


	3. Chapter 3 Like Bear

**Chapter 3 – The Chapter Titles have nothing to do with anything.**

(Author's Note: I'm sorry for the long lack of updates to the few people who are reading this fic…but college and APs and Senior Projects were a pain. I'm finally back on track, though, so more updates should come a bit sooner. And, since it's my habit to include a huge amount of cameos, I may need to start listing crossovers too. This story takes place in a Halo world that has followed the events of Code Geass. Technology is a mix of Code Geass, Gundam 00 – hence the confusion between knightmare and gundams – and Halo, with a later evolution into Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann. It is a rather random mix, but…well, it is what it is. In the meantime, enjoy a rather long chapter.)

"_Teamwork: because bullets can only go through so many bodies.."_

-Unknown

**Excerpt from Report GNDM34A-342**

**Presiding Officer: Dr. Mikhail Sergeyevich Cossack, ONI Section III, Dr. Thomas Hikari, Professor of Robotics at Manassas Colony University at Reach (MCUR)**

**Re: Unknown MCF designation**

**Date: 043 April**

**Location: DALLAS Base, Manassas – Reach, FLEETCOM Sec1, Epsilon Eridani System**

"From eyewitness accounts, it appears that the unknown Mechanized Combat Frame (MCF) plays the role of a ground unit, leading us to designate it as a Knightmare over an I.S. Frame (Atmospheric Combat) or Gundam (Space combat). However, save for this arbitrary judgment, this "knightmare" seems to defy all the conventions of modern science. It appears that the knightmare is capable of surviving direct hits from plasma weapons, and stress tests suggest that the alloy used is capable of resisting a ridiculous amount of stress, having managed to support the rough weight of two Pelicans without any notable signs of damage. Yet, as useful as its abilities seem to be, further analysis seems impossible, as no cutting instrument as of yet has been able to remove the shell of the vehicle. Dubbed Lazengann for its two most significant traits – a nameless power spiral-shaped power meter and its dominant face, the knightmare, the knightmare appears to be leagues ahead of human OR covenant technology – in fact, many of our researchers, having seen recordings, have compared it with the emergence of GN Technology and Celestial Being after the Sakuradite Wars. The steering system seems simple, and appears to be intended for humanoids, judging by the deceased individual who had piloted the knightmare. The "ignition key" at the center of the spiral power gauge is missing – given that the pilot's body was left on Miridem in the wake of the evacuation and was probably obliterated during the glassing, it is likely that this ignition key is now inaccessible. If that is the case, we are not likely to be capable of activating Lazengann anytime soon. Since little else can be concluded, the commission has stored Lazengann in the Prototype Knightmare Storage Facility in hopes that we may be able to access the technology inside sometime in the near future."

* * *

><p><strong>UFNMC Camp Currahee<strong>

**XF-063, AKA Onyx**

**0530 Hours**

"Wake up, trainees! Get up!"

It was a running joke in boot camps all over known space that UFN High Command had a love affair with megaphones and loudspeakers. Jean experienced this firsthand as the amplified voice of CPO Mendez filled the room.

A moment later, his journey into wakefulness was further accelerated by a bloodcurling scream—followed by another, then another, and then another, in precisely-spaced tones, like a Glee Club summoned from Hell (Jean's father, a devout catholic, was sure that all Glee Club members would end up there, an assumption that went hand in hand with the devout belief that it was because every glee club member was Homosexual). Jean, though, fervently thanked the homosexuals as he looked around and saw UFNMC officers jabbing at sleeping children with pronged rods. Though the jabs were light, it didn't take a genius to realize that it was really hurting. Jean scrambled off his bunk as fast as he could, leaving Guame to squeak angrily as he narrowly avoided tumbling off the bed. He got out just before one of the UFNMC officers reached him, quickly scrambling into the crowd of gasping children (the officer made no attempt to pursue him).

"A minute and a half. I've seen worse."

The man who stood in front of them was not CPO Mendez. And yet, the word Man seemed too small to fit this hulk. Even compared to the other UFNMC officers standing behind him, the man was a tank. Muscles rippled noticeably on his forearms, and he stood almost a head above the tallest other officer. The man's two prominent eyebrows were clearly in alliance, judging by the proximity with which they clung onto each other like two kissing caterpillars mounted on a chiseled mountain face.

"Lt. Vasquez," the man said without preamble. There was no contempt in his voice, nor dislike nor compassion or any emotion at all.

"I will escort you trainees to the showers. We have prepared a fresh set of Uniforms for you," he explained as he indicated at a crate of neatly folded clothes. "You will shower, and then return to change your clothes. Do you understand?"

Nobody answered. Lt. Vasquez calmly tapped the shoulder of the nearest boy with his baton. The boy cried out soundlessly.

"Do you understand?" Vasquez's voice remained emotionless.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Then let's go. Come with me."

* * *

><p>Shower consisted of a three-minute wash with soapy water and then a quick (and freezing) rinse—there were three hundred and thirty Spartans, and the showers only allowed 100 (the last thirty expected a more leisurely shower. A few UFNSC officers dispelled that illusion by striking a few with their batons). As the recruits dried themselves with towels provided for them, a figure ran past them—Kurt Ambrose, brown hair filled with sweat as he jogged, dressed in the same gray fatigues as the ones that Jean and the others had taken off. He seemed bemused.<p>

"Towels? Back in my day we just ran around naked."

That, of course, was no consolation to Jean as he shivered in the cold morning air. As Lt. Vasquez began to lead the boys back to their dorm room, they passed a group of thirty girls, led by a female UFNSC Officer with close-cropped brown hair. Jean spotted Sathya, who grinned at him. Vasquez nodded politely to the female officer.

"Pelayo," he said in the way of greeting.

"'sup, Sal," Pelayo replied cheerfully.

"Not much."

"Say, Vasquez…lunch later?"

"Nah, gotta get ready my regimen," Vasquez replied shortly.

"errr…alright, have fun then."

"K." Lieutenant Sal Vasquez was not a man of many words, Jean decided.

* * *

><p>15 minutes later, 330 children stood in a clump down on the parade grounds. Some, it appeared, head already made friends. Some clearly hadn't. Kurt Ambrose remembered his training with the other SPARTAN-IIs as he watched their faces. Back then, there were 75 children, half that after the augmentations. Every SPARTAN-II knew each other. You had two teammates, and you did your best. There were 330 SPARTAN-IIIs, though—far more than there were ever SPARTAN-IIs. As such, the training strategy had been changed.<p>

"ATTEN-TION!"

Mendez, it seemed, was already ready to go. Kurt and the UFNSC officers immediately snapped to attention. Seeing their officers do so, the children followed suit (motivated mainly by a few prods with shock batons. Kurt winced, remembering how those had hurt during his training).

"SPARTANs, I trust that you enjoyed your first night at this camp. It will be the last night you will enjoy for a while."

Kurt smiled to himself as he glanced at Mendez's expressionless face. _Such a drama queen._ It was his turn, at any rate. Kurt walked up to the front, taking Mendez's loudspeaker.

"Alright, SPARTANs—I'd like to bring your attention to your chests."

"Disappointing," one of the older SPARTANs noted with a grin as she glanced at her chest (which, like any other normal four to nine year old, was perpendicular with the ground). Her instructor tapped her with the baton. Kurt remained expressionless, but gave her a quick wink. He didn't like robots. Reminded him of that old movie he watched…with that Austrian man…Hasta-la-vista…it wasn't important at any rate.

"Now, as disappointing as your lack of development may be to you, Ayako-G203," he noted with a small grin, "We did not bring you over to Onyx to be professional prostitutes."

A tiny girl piped up. "What's a prostitute?"

"Nevermind," Ambrose said quickly as Mendez gave him a seemingly expressionless stare that Ambrose knew meant that it was time to move on.

"Anyways, you have all been acquainted with your names. What I would like you to take note of is the stripe at the top of the name tag."

Immediately, 330 children turned their eyes to their chests.

"As you can see, the stripe is colored. That stripe color represents your unit, consisting of you, twenty-nine others, and an instructor. For example," Ambrose explained as he indicated his own uniform, "As instructor for blue unit, the bar above my ID Tag is blue. On meeting with your instructor, you will be further divided into units of five."

A few of the recruits were already glancing at each other, mouthing colors and either grinning enthusiastically or shaking their heads in disappointment (or just giving confused looks. For all his physical enhancements, Dr. Halsey had never quite taught Ambrose how to read lips either.)

"I realize you will not like everyone in your unit," Ambrose said bracingly. "but those will be the people you train with for the next ten years. I won't ask you to like them—but I do ask you to trust them. You will have to tonight. One thing that has changed since the old army camps is that we know the value of good food." Ambrose smiled. "Dinner tonight will be steak and apple pie. I do hope that all of you will get to enjoy it."

And, with that cryptic smile, he stepped back as Mendez took over.

* * *

><p>"Cows. Ugh." Sathya muttered to herself.<p>

Jean shrugged. Cows were a rare delicacy in Miridem—they consumed a vast amount of real estate to raise, and with most of the agricultural outer colonies now glassed, only the rich could afford to eat beef. Not that he cared—at the moment, he was simply happy he had ended up in Red unit with Sathya. A few other familiar faces loomed. Samus was (As always) stoically watching them all (Jean shivered again), and a few other boys in Jean's room lounged about, a few talking with others, a few awkwardly wandering around. Not exactly the A-team.

The smell of some kind of liquor filled Jean's nose, causing him to gag slightly.

"Raydy, my _detyeĭ_?" a gruff and yet genial voice behind him caused both Jean and Sathya to jump a clear foot into the air. Judging from the expressions on the faces of the others, they too had not seen the source of the voice—a bearded, slightly short but grinning man wearing what looked like a fur coat and a gray Russian ushanka emblazoned with a red star and a yellow sickle. It was like he had come straight out of a history textbook or bad movie, Russian accent and all. Regardless, a commanding officer was a commanding officer, and Jean stood at attention with the rest of the SPARTANs.

"I'm Sergeant Kamarov," the man explained. "I veel be leadayr of Red Team."

Sathya gave Jean an incredulous look that clearly meant _what?_

"You veel be strong. Like Bear. I veel assign teams. You cannot change your teams. You must be strong. Like bear." Kamarov reached into his pocket as he extracted—a battered piece of what looked like tissue paper. Given, there was a decently organized list on the sheet, but the brown stain that obscured part of the text hardly gave it any credence.

"Let's see…Glenn-G045, Piotrek-G277, Maria-G268, Andrew-G092, Shimon-G022, you five form team Black Bear. Kitara-G121, Abel-G127, Mina-G043, Peter-G202, Kiel-G244, you are team Sun Bear. Samus-G119, Manuel-G210, Sathya-G124, Selim-G293, Jean-G108, you are team Polar Bear."

As Kamarov continued, Jean and Sathya walked up to Samus, who gave both of them a disinterested look. A short, tanned south American boy who was probably Manuel walked up to them shyly, followed by a tall, curly-haired boy with the same complexion as Sathya. Sathya and Selim glanced at each other."

"You Bengali?"

"Pakistani," Selim replied cooly, and Sathya's expression darkened.

"Great," she muttered. Jean had read about the Indo-Pakistani war, one of the many conflicts at the end of the 22nd century ATB that became known as the Sakuradite Wars. He hadn't, however, known that the grudge had returned to this day. Somehow, this didn't seem to bode well.

Sergeant Kamarov, as it happened, seemed to like bears, judging by his tendency to assign any and all virtues to bears. In the time that Kamarov had explained the workings of a MA5B battle rifle, Jean had discovered that bears were fast, strong, versatile, rapid-reloading and had high rates of fire (Sathya suspected he had mixed a bear up with a knightmare frame). Another part of Sergeant Kamarov was that he had yet to use the word "the." To sum it up, Kamarov was one of the oddest adults he had seen yet. And so, he was hardly surprised when he brought six flags and the thirty trainees into the most demonic jungle gym he had ever seen. Crisscrossing metal poles, rope bridges, ramps, pulleys, and multicolored blocks, all over what looked like one vast pool, combined to make the whole affair look as if somebody straight out of Nintendo had decided to transplant an 8-bit game into reality. The only things missing were the spikes and the coins.

" Vaylcome, _detyei_, to Dayveel's playground. (author's note: a proofreader said this was difficult. It means Welcome, Children, to (the) Devil's playground)" He pointed up to the center, where a single large pillar held what looked like a group of flagstands.

"Well, CPO Mayndayz calls it Eevo Jeema, but I don't know vy. (author's note: in case this Russian accent is completely indecipherable, Mednez calls it the Iwo Jima.) Thay plan is dees—your taym takes one of dees flags, and then put into flagstand. Thayn you cross that breedge," he explained as he pointed at a single rope bridge that led to a raised platform with stairs leading to ground level, "and then come back to me. Seemple?" Without waiting for an answer, he passed a flag to Jean—who immediately buckled under the weight. Kamarov was either extremely strong, or he was extremely weak—Kamarov had nonchalantly shouldered all six flags to the course, but Jean could feel his muscles straining

"You're a nice kid and all, but you can be wuss sometimes," Sathya said, smiling and shaking her head as she grabbed the flag—and then gasped as she felt the weight. Nevertheless, she managed a sheepish smile. "Not terrible."

Kamarov watched, smiling through his beard as the six teams tried to pick up their flags.

"_Da_, one more theeng—there are only five flagstands. The team who cannot raise their flag doesn't eat."

Jean froze—as did every other SPARTAN.

"Well that bloody changes things," yelled Peter-G202 from Team Black Bear as he began to sprint towards the course.

The obvious problem hit Jean as he began to run. _How are we even going to carry the flag up there?_ The obstacle course didn't seem terrible. Carrying a flag up there, though, was another matter.

"Sathya!"

Sathya, who was already far ahead of just about anyone else, turned around. "What?"

Jean pointed to where Manuel (easily the shortest among them) was desperately trying to lift the flag.

"…oh."

They had realized a bit earlier than the other groups, who only now were beginning to run back towards their somewhat beleaguered teammates. Sathya tapped Selim on the shoulder (none to gently—he stumbled for a moment and yelled out something in his own language. Sathya yelled something back as they hurried back to where Manuel and Jean were busily pulling up the flag (which Jean only now realized held a particularly poorly drawn bear).

Jean glanced around quickly. "Where's Samus?"

"Not fucking here," Sathya responded, pausing from a long tirade explaining exactly what Selim's mother could do with his turban.

With an effort, the four lifted up the flag. Flapping in the wind, the flag did not seem to enjoy their collective embrace as it struggled to drop back to the floor. Jean looked around anxiously. A few children were already up on the course, torn between holding onto the progress they had already made or helping their compatriots. Panda Bear team (Tseng-G242 had pointed out that the Panda was not a bear, but Kamarov had already gone onto Team Grizzly Bear) had already managed to pick up their flag as they struggled to bring up the first flight of stairs. Jean glanced back at his own team. Samus was nowhere to be found, and Selim and Sathya's cursing had long since spilled into English (it appeared that the Punjabi language was incapable of sufficiently conveying the twos' hate for each other).

"—I rip pages out of your quran and chew them for breakfast—"

"—In between your incestuous relationships in front of your wooden idols—"

"Shut up," Jean quietly muttered as Manuel nodded in agreement.

"—IM not the one with twenty mothers—"

"—At least I HAVE a mother—"

"Shut Up!"

"—your mother also happens to be your sister, so that doesn't count—"

"—I'm not talking about your family here—"

"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"

"As if my—" Sathya trailed off as she turned around.

"…This flag isn't going to move itself," Jean remarked quietly.

Sathya blinked and then glared at Selim, who did the same. For a tense moment, it seemed as if they were about to strike each other. And then they both lifted the flag, studiously avoiding each other's eyes.

Jean sighed in relief. _Crisis Averted._

For now.

* * *

><p>The obstacle course had evidently not been made for peace and diplomacy. The planks that linked each pillar were narrow and tenuous, difficult for one person to manage, nevermind two or more. Tseng-G242 and Panda bear team was slightly ahead of them—but still, Team Polar Bear continued to be making good progress. Close behind, Team Black Bear was rapidly catching up. Jean, though, wasn't worried as they crossed another bridge. Jean put one foot onto the pillar—and then felt it fall from underneath him. His other foot was suddenly standing on air. <em>What?<em> For a moment, he teetered on the edge—and then, in slow motion, he felt himself fall backwards—just as a warm, rough hand closed around his wrist. Manuel had spotted Jean's fall and immediately grabbed—and, with a quick tug, Jean tumbled back onto the pillar with a sigh of relief. Sathya, meanwhile, had turned around as she glared at Andrew and Piotrek from team Black Bear, who had pulled back the plank and left Jean to fall.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jean, though, blinked as he got up and glanced at the paths behind them. Team Black Bear was not the only team to have tried to get ahead—Team Sun Bear, Team Grizzly bear, and team Sloth Bear were engaged in a violent tussle for last place. In fact, Polar and Panda Bear teams had only escaped the battle due to their success—until now.

"The _puta_ are going to try to trip us up," Manuel yelled as Jean picked himself up with his help. "We need to go faster!"

Team Black Bear had already replaced the plank and were rapidly catching up. With five people as opposed to the two flag bearers in team Polar Bear, they were catching up quickly.

"Or," Sathya said with a crooked grin, "they need to go slower." Leaving Selim, Manuel and Jean with the flag, she turned around and ran back the way they came, to where team Black Bear was crossing a plank.

"Payback, asshole," she yelled as she kicked Shimon-G022 off the plank into the water. Andrew ran at her—but turned around as yells from behind announced the arrival of Team Sloth Bear. As the two teams struggled for control for the pillar, Sathya lithely skipped back to where the rest of Jean's team (sans Samus, who still appeared to be elsewhere) waited.

"Let's go."

In the background, the sound of splashing and yelling announced the victors of the tussle behind them.

The four SPARTAN-IIIs of team Polar bear ran as quickly as they could as Sathya (the fastest at any rate) did her best to egg them on from behind (though she and Selim still took enough time off to snipe at each other verbally). Team Sloth Bear, though, was fast catching up.

"We have to lose them," Jean called over from the front, and Sathya nodded grimly. As the first member of Team Sloth Bear (a seemingly mixed-blood child with the culture-ambiguous name of Asa) stepped onto the plank linking the last pillar to their current pillar, Sathya kicked the plank off. For a moment, Asa-G177 stared at the waters below—and then he ever-so-slowly began to fall.

"There we go—" Sathya began—just as a hand snaked out from below and grabbed her ankle.

For a moment, she just stared at it as a curse formed on her lips—and then her legs fell back from under her.

"Shitshithshitshitshit—" scrabbling with her hands, Sathya desperately managed to latch onto the edge at the very last moment—and then almost felt her hands dislocate as Asa's and her full weight came together on her wrists. And, for all the 8 years she had spent climbing over walls, vaulting over fences, and climbing out of alleys to evade the Kailasan police, she knew that she wouldn't be able to pull herself up this ledge. As her fingers slowly lost their grip, she closed her eyes.

Maybe if they could still get the flag in—

And then a warm hand tightened around her wrist.

"Don't give up yet," Jean yelled, wincing, as he struggled to keep his grip.

But there was no way a small boy like Jean could hold the weight of both Sathya and the hapless Asa (who was, like Sathya, now losing his grip). As Sathya looked up, a second face appeared. Selim, his face screwed up in concentration, was holding onto Jean's shoulders—and, in the back, Manuel was holding onto Selim.

"Come on, I can't hold this forever," Jean yelled.

Sathya sighed. "You guys are idiots."

And then she extended her other arm and grabbed Jean's arm, dislodging Asa with a kick. With suddenly half the weight, Jean and the others fell backwards as Sathya felt herself pulled up. With an effort, she managed to get her elbows over the edge—and then Selim grabbed her other arm, hauling her back onto the pillar. For a moment, they could only pant.

"Thought you'd kick me back down, asshole," Sathya managed between breaths as she glared at Selim.

"I can't beat your ass on an empty stomach," Selim replied shortly.

Sathya simply stared for a moment and then grinned as she stood up. "Fair enough. But we're short on time. Let's go."

* * *

><p>While Team Sloth Bear had faced a setback, the race was far from over. Team Sloth Bear had stopped to rescue Asa, and had been left behind by the other two teams, both of whom continued to nip on team Black Bear's heels. Panda Bear Team seemed to be having their own troubles up ahead, judging by the noise in the pillars above—which, Jean noticed, had suddenly changed from stairs to ledges. As the height increased, the distance between pillars seemed to have been widened, slowing Team Polar Bear as they tried to clamber over each successive pillar. Behind them, Team Sun Bear was already nipping at their heels. With a grunt of effort, Jean finally managed to pull himself up the next ledge as he stood up to look around. He was still standing when the rest of his team arrived.<p>

"This is so not worth one meal," Manuel muttered as he stared at the veritable wall that was the last pillar. Even Selim, the tallest among them, was not tall enough to reach the top of the last central pillar. The daunting moat that separated it from the rest of the maze hardly made things any better. Looking down, Jean realized exactly how high he and the team had climbed.

"Well, screw it, we've gone this far," Jean muttered.

Sathya grinned. "That's the spirit." She glanced around at Manuel and Selim, all of them sweaty and out of breath. "Ready to eat, you lot?"

Jean nodded through pants.

"Infidel," Selim remarked, smiling.

"_Si_," Manuel replied.

Selim looked at the gulf. "If Sathya and I boost Jean over, he might help Manuel. Afterwards, we can get the flag across, and then the rest of us can follow up."

Sathya looked around. "Any objections?" Without waiting for a response, she slapped Jean on the back. "Come on, we're hungry."

A minute later, Sathya and Selim were kneeling on the side of their pillar. "We can get you to the right height, but we can't help you cross that gap. You're going to have to climb that." Jean could only nod as he carefully stood on their cupped hands.

"Ready? 3…2…1…go!"

Suddenly, the ground beneath Jean shook as, with an effort, Sathya and Selim boosted Jean up. For a moment, it seemed as if he had found his balance. Now with his head above the edge, Jean could see the flagstands, blocks with holes stuck into them. He could already taste dinner. And then, from behind, the scream and splash of somebody from team Sun Bear caused everyone to jump.

"Whoops," Sathya muttered as her hands flinched for a moment.

And then Jean tipped forwards. Reaching out, his hands managed to grasp onto the concrete pillar—just as his face and body slammed into the side of the pillar.

The F-word was an understatement in this situation, he decided.

Yet, miraculously, he held on. There was a painful roar in his ears, and the rough concrete dug against his fingers. Gradually, he felt his grip loosening.

_Guess this is it…_

He closed his eyes—and then he remembered last night.

The fight.

Watching Sathya getting the crap getting kicked out of her.

Because of his fault.

Last night, he had resolved never to let it happen again—never to let somebody get screwed over for his sakes.

If he failed, the rest of his team would starve with him.

He wouldn't let that happen.

And then the roar died away, and the yells of his teammates reached him.

"Jean!"

"Don't Let Go!"

Panting, sweaty, and desperately clinging onto the ledge, Jean couldn't say anything—and yet he smiled.

Sathya blinked. For a moment, it seemed as if Jean had glowed green—and then he had managed to get his arms over the ledge. She breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing her arms across her eyes.

Jean grinned as he turned around. "Send Manuel over!"

Manuel smiled. "Knew you could do it, _cuáquero_!"

Selim sighed as he got down on his knees again and cupped his hands. "You scared me there, Jean."

Sathya, though, turned around. "The others are right behind us…we need to go fast!" She got in position to lift up Manuel—just as an individual suddenly knelt next to Jean.

"The flag!" Samus-G119 called across the gulf.

"Samus—where the hell—You talk?" Sathya spluttered.

"Nevermind that…Manuel-G210, take the flag with you. We're out of time."

And indeed, Team Sun Bear had long since overtaken Selim and Sathya. Nodding, Manuel quickly grabbed the rolled flag as he once again stepped onto Selim and Sathya's cupped hands.

"3…2…1…go!"

Like Jean, Manuel fell forwards. Fortunately, the long flagpole that Manuel held managed to cross the gap, resting on the opposite ledge. Jean quickly reached across to grab Manuel's hand.

"Samus, get Manuel's other hand—"

And then he felt a weight on his hand—and, taken by surprised, he tumbled forwards.

"Jean! Manuel!"

A hand closed around Jean's leg as he fell.

"Don't let go, Selim!" Sathya yelled.

"It's hard not to," Selim's voice yelled from the pillar.

For a hopeful moment, it seemed as if Selim would be able to hold on—and then the members of Team Sun Bear gave Selim a shove.

It was a long fall down.

* * *

><p>"Now, ve look at results…" Sgt. Kamarov explained cheerfully to the various wet, battered and tired children around him. If someone had dyed his beard white and his uniform red, he could well be Santa Claus preaching to the elves about how he would die and be revived on boxing day—wait a minute. "Team Panda Bear…you wayre strong and fast. Like Bear. You lost Dayvid-G009 and Mira-G118 as casoolties, but you vayre first to put flag in. First Done, Two Casoolties…vell done."<p>

It was a measure of how tired the children were that Tseng and his unit didn't even smile. Jean and company, on the other hand, were too busy shivering to even notice. The water had been cold.

"Team Sun Bear…you vayre third. Not like bear, but maybe fox. You lost one member as casoolty, but still, well done."

"Team Grizzly Bear…you vayre fourth to put up your flag. You layft behind some of your maymbayrs, so some casoolties."

"Team Black Bear…You vayre second to last, but you only had one casoolty. Accayptable, but needs vork."

Kamarov smiled as he glanced at team Sloth Bear, which was looking around glumly. "Team Sloth Bear…You vayre last team to put in your flag. But Ayvary (author's note: Every) one of you stayed behind to haylp Asa-G177 back up. You are loyal. Like Bear. You will be eatayn tonight."

It took everyone a few seconds to realize that he meant "Eating," not "eaten." When the sighs of relief had gone around, Kamarov turned to Team Polar Bear gravely.

"Throughout this race, I vas vatching Team Polar Bear thay most. Some of you are fast, like bear," he said as he looked at Sathya; "Some of you are strong, like bear," he said as he glanced at Manuel; "Some of you are leadayrs, like bear," he remarked as he glanced at Jean; "and some of you are loyal, like bear," he said as he nodded to Selim. "Some of you, in fact, are strong, and fast, and wise, like bear," he said as he gave a long stare at Samus. "Ayvayn though you argued…more than any other group…you worked togaythayr…for most part."

Sathya, Manuel and Selim were all glaring at Samus, who was staring at her hands again.

"Your team was saycond to raise flag. But one of your team maymbayrs (At this point, Jean was surprised the glares hadn't caused Samus to spontaneously ignite) took flag and made your other maymbers casualties." Kamarov shook his head. "Ayvayn though you wayre second, and ayvayn though Samoos also managed to hold off Team Panda Bear for while on own (like bear)…you SPARTANS are Team. And so you fail. As team. Your dormitory officers will ayscort you back to dining hall. Dismissed."

And with that, he turned and walked off into the night, singing something cheerfully in Russian.

* * *

><p>"Well, I guess that's that," Jean said slowly as he looked around his group. The other teams were busy in conversation—small talk, congratulations, how relieved they were they got to eat. Team Polar Bear sat in silence. None of them were particularly enthusiastic about watching everyone else eating. The bright sun, far larger than the one that orbited Miridem, cast a beautiful orange glow through the trees that Jean was too hungry and tired to notice. Finally, Sathya stood up and silently walked over to where Samus was standing.<p>

"Why did you do it?" Sathya's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. Samus simply looked at her with the usual stare. Usually, it would have cowed Sathya, but not at the moment. Jean saw how her fists shook.

"Why did you do it? We were so close…"

Jean could see that there were tears in her eyes. She looked down for a moment.

"We worked so hard…we came so close…and you didn't do shit. Where the hell were you? Well?"

Selim and Manuel looked away—but, judging by their expressions, they felt the same way.

Samus simply stared back.

"Answer me, you mute bastard!"

Finally, Samus looked up.

"…because you would have held me back."

_Smack._

The punch echoed in the silence. Samus staggered back several steps—Sathya hadn't been holding back. For a moment, there was only the sound of silence (the other teams had long since turned to watch).

Finally, turning around, Sathya ran off into the woods.

"Sathya—" Jean stood up—and then hesitated. _Should I?_

Selim looked up at him. "Go. You know her the best of us."

Tseng-G242 stood up. "Go, kid. You're a team." His team nodded in agreement-followed by the rest of the teams.

For a moment, Jean gaped—and then nodded as he ran towards the forest.

"Sathya?"

The sky was fading from orange to deep red when Jean found Sathya, kneeling in front of a tree.

"…are you alright?"

"That bitch…I'm going to kill her…"

Jean blinked. Maybe this wasn't a good time.

"C'mon, Sathya, there'll be another time," he said in a halfhearted attempt at consolation.

"…fuck it. Fuck her."

"I'm sure we can make up for it at breakfast tomorrow…"

"We were so fucking close…"

"…ermm…the Evening is nice, isn't it?"

Sathya turned around and managed a shaky smile through her tears.

"…Do you normally comfort people like this?"

Jean blinked.

"Ummm…no."

Sathya smiled a little wider. "Thank god. You suck at it." And then, her already fragile smile shattered as she embraced Jean in a tight (if extremely wet) hug, and she dissolved into incoherency.

* * *

><p><strong>For the Record: Crossovers<strong>

-Dr. Thomas Hikari / Thomas Light and Dr. Cossack are References to Megaman. They do actually matter later on. Dr. Wily woulda been waaaaaay too obvious.

-Lt. Vasquez, Sergeant Kamarov and Lt. Pelayo are references to characters in Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare (the one BEFORE Modern Warfare 2). They wont be the last COD characters to make it into this.

-The G.N. XIV, while referred to as a knightmare, is actually a G.N. Tau Drive Gundam from Gundam 00. The distinction between the two will be emphasized on later.

-The Sakuradite Wars include the events of Code Geass.

-Kamarovs Love of bears is a quirk pretty much taken from another character in _A Dirty Job_, a 2006 novel by my favorite author, Christopher Moore. Sorry, Mr. Moore...


	4. Chapter 4 Every Chapter is Longer

**Chapter 4: The Chapters Keep Getting Longer.**

"_These MRE's are tasty...Mmm, mmmm, _

_I can feel the hair on my chest growing already."_

-Captain MacMillan,

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

Unused Sound Clips (links at end of chapter)

**UFNSC _Swiftsure_**

**UFNSC 3rd Fleet**

**In Orbit Above Miridem**

"Welcome back, SPARTANs."

Vice Admiral Berlin Tursk's expression barely flinched as he saw the three SPARTAN-IIs enter. Towering above even the tallest men in their MJOLLNIR armor and rumored to be everything from robots to incarnations of the Dalai Lama, the SPARTANs carried around an aura of fear and wonder. Every member of the UFNSC Armed Forces reacted differently when they met SPARTANs—but Master Chief Petty Officer John-117, otherwise known as the Master Chief, didn't know many who didn't react at all. Tursk was almost a SPARTAN himself stature-wise, a tall man with closely-cropped brown hair and a fair amount of bulk. He wasn't ever going to be a fashion model, but he wasn't exactly an orc. All in all, his skill set had proven far more useful for the United Federation of Nations Armed Forces than for the fashion establishment, given his rather long track record. John respected that, and he saluted with the other two SPARTANs as they removed their helmets—Brown-haired, somber looking Kelly-087 (who had known John since the beginning of their training) and Frederic-104, for a long time John's closest competitor in training. The three SPARTANs made the two-SPARTAN-Wide gap between them obvious. The raid on the Third Fleet of Glorious Consequence to recover Doctor Halsey was not without cost.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tursk said simply as he removed his cap. Though there was no hint of emotion in his voice, the Master Chief was still a little grateful. A little.

"What's next?" he replied firmly.

Tursk nodded to an adjutant, who brought up a certain logon screen...

"What? I'm old fashioned," Tursk snapped as Macrosoft Powerpoint reared its old red-and-white, ugly head on the screen. Not even Mendez back on Reach used Macrosoft. Out of respect for Tursk's rank, John didn't laugh.

"…" Vice Admiral Tursk was apparently a fan of wordart. The Disgusting, Rainbow Comic Sans type. Somehow, John doubted that it was a good idea to write reassignment orders in a color scheme that on a higher brightness could give the reader epileptic Seizures.

"Frederic-104, Kelly-087, both of you have been reassigned to escorting Doctor Halsey. You'll be taking her, along with twelve of my ships, to Vice Admiral Stanforth's 14th Battle Group in orbit above Reach. Tursk scowled for a moment at the thought of losing his ships. "As per the Cole Protocol, the detachment will jump to Skopje and then return to Reach. That is all."

"Yessir," Kelly and Frederic replied simply, in unison. Skopje was considered an outer colony, but it was a lot closer to the Inner Colonies – and, most importantly, Earth – than was safe. No matter how ONI's propaganda vids showed victories, the Covenant was closing its grip on humanity.  
>But then again, that was why John and the SPARTANs were there.<p>

"Chief, your orders are different," Admiral Tursk continued as he glanced at het adjutant. "Click."

The powerpoint changed slides.

"Chief, you and I are headed with the Third Fleet to New Pendragon. They blew the Defense Fleet out of the sky a few weeks ago, but all they've done is land Infantry. No Heavy vehicles either—just Ghosts, Banshees, Locusts. General Shepherd and the Army's been buying good time in the old Mines—and the Covenant has kept on coming, even though they can't use most of their vehicles down there. If they haven't glassed it yet, they're there for something. We'll deal with the fleet. While that happens, Chief, your job is to clear out the mines. Find out what the Covenant are looking for, and if Shepherd and his men are alive, get him out. Any questions?"

"None, sir."

Tursk motioned to the adjutant, who clicked one more time, replacing the powerpoint with the black screen that showed at the end of every presentation. Somehow, it didn't seem like a good omen.

"Oh yes, one more thing…you're delivering a MJOLLNIR for Dr. Halsey."

The Master Chief Blinked. He hadn't heard of any new SPARTANs. "For?"

Tursk, for the first time, smiled. "You'll see."

* * *

><p><strong>2 Weeks Later<strong>

**New Pendragon**

The planet that humans called New Pendragon was a giant even among its fellow planets. Nearly double the surface are of the Sangheili homeworld of (as the name suggests) Sanghelios, the planet had piqued the interest of the San'shyuum research establishment. The discovery of Sacred Artifacts was enough for Covenant High Command to send a fleet. After all, only the gods could make a planet that should be more than five times as dense as Sangheilos have only two-thirds of its gravity.

None of this, of course, mattered to the pint-sized Grunt named Lalap.

The gods were unfathomable, after all, so it was pointless worrying about the thought of the gods when you were better off worrying about finding your plasma pistol before the Sangheili officer hit you or hiding from big Demons in multicolored armor. Lalap had gone through countless battles, and he had met many grunts who liked talking about religion or politics or contemplating about the nature of life.

Most of them were dead.

For Lalap, the most pressing matter was that his methane mask was running low.

Unggoy, of all the races of the Covenant, were the only race to breathe methane instead of oxygen.

The Jackals/Kig-yar, of course, called them retarded for it. Personally, Lalap preferred special.

The Methane refueling station was located near the landing field, and so Lalap took a break from his patrol (Dakad would stand in for him - the unggoy could barely tell each other apart, and the Sangheili were even worse at it) to run to the refueling station. Two other grunts were there.

"Chilly, isn't it?" he said in the way of greeting.

"Just like home," another grunt returned.

Lalap grabbed one of the pipes, attaching it to hits armored rebreather. As Fresh methane replaced the stale crap he had been snuffing in, he let out a contented sigh. He was in a good mood. He glanced at the other Unggoy who had responded.

"You female?"

"Yep. Name's Fafak."

"Want to mate?"

Prior to the war, the Covenant had severely limited the mating frequencies for the unggoy due to their rapid rates of reproduction. But once disposable infantry was needed, breeding was allowed, even encouraged—females who laid eggs could get a 4-7 day Maternity Leave back on board the fleet—and, with luck, the covenant would win that particular battle within those 4-7 days, extending the lifespan of the grunt in question for a few more weeks. The Covenant always won (As far as Lalap knew)—the question was simply whether you would survive the victory to fight another day.

Fafak nodded. "Why not?"

Thankfully, this fanfiction was prevented from turning into an M-rated Bestiality Display through a burst of sirens. Lalap and Fafak jumped. "Guess the Humans are back again," Lalap sighed.

Fafak didn't seem concerned. "Once this is over?"

"Odds are one or both of us will be dead, but why not?"

Grabbing his plasma pistol, Lalap geared himself up for battle.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Swiftsure<em>, Bridge**

**In Orbit Above New Pendragon**

New Pendragon carried none of the glamour that its name suggested, at least not from orbit. Cold and forbidding, dark gray patches of slums marred the surface like tumors, remnants of better days. When Sakuradite was discovered on the planet during terraforming in the early days of the UFNSC, the planet enjoyed a massive economic boom. Named "The philosopher's stone" by Marco Travel and all but exhausted on Earth since the Black Rebellion (when 55% of the world's supply vanished in the destruction of Mount Fuji) and the Sakuradite Wars, the bright pink superconductor ignited a new Gold Rush. Cities had sprung up almost overnight where Sakuradite was found. But the veins were far more shallow than expected, and the capitalists who had built up New Pendragon threw it away as quickly as they had built it once they had made their fortunes. All the sakuradite that remained was impure, dilute, low-quality, and deep into the mantle. Profitable, but only if you left Worker's rights and minimum wages out of the equation. By the time the Covenant glassed Harvest, the only people who lived in Pendragon were poor migrant workers who were now too poor to flee, and desperate miners with dreams of hitting one last mother lode. In the course of the war against the Covenant, as the outer colonies were slowly eradicated, New Pendragon regained some significance. With vast abandoned tunnel networks (hopefully) capable of surviving a glassing, New Pendragon became part of the defensive line meant to prevent the covenant from reaching the inner colonies. And now, that defensive line was going to be pushed to its limit.

"…UFNSC_ Polaris_ has successfully exited slipspace, in position."

"UFNSC _Mokele Mbembe _is in position."

"UFNSC _Gino Weinburg_ is out of position, now correcting."

Vice Admiral Berlin Tursk turned away from the fleet soundoff—it could go on without him. The more pressing matter was the opposition he would be facing—the small Covenant Fleet on the other side of the planet.

"Admiral, we've got about 15 ships facing us—about 4 light cruisers, and the rest are your average CCS-class."

Tursk winced inside. He had 43 ships with him, with their complements of Longswords and Gundams—enough to win, but not without casualties.

"Order all Knightmare and Longsword pilots to launch. All ships are to arm themselves."

"Yessir."

Tursk took a look outside the bridge windows at the planet below.

_This battle had better be worth it._

UFNSC _Swiftsure_, Landing Bay

"All Lancer Squadron Pilots to Flight Deck R. Repeat, All Lancer Squadron Pilots report to Flight Deck R."

"You've got your landside leave, men! Hop to it!"

* * *

><p>John-117 did a final weapons check. Two Pistols, an Assault Rifle, and a few Frag Grenades. Basically what he usually got. But this wouldn't be a usual landing. With the planet below crawling with Covenant, there was no way that the UFNSC would be able to deploy Marines and Pelicans without ridiculous losses. This time, John would be landing with the Helljumpers. The unit of ODSTs who arrived milled around him silently. There was an obvious state of tension. The fact that they were about to sit in what amounted to an armored telephone booth, the HEVSOEIV, and ride it through the atmosphere into enemy territory aside, the ODSTs did not have a good history with SPARTANs—John-117 did not forget the time a group of four ODSTs had provoked him into a fight. Two of them had not survived to tell the tale, and the other two would have nobody to tell it to save for their physical therapists. The nervous silence did not perturb the Master Chief—personally, he would rather have silent allies than chatty ones. Of course, the silence was appropriately broken at that moment.

"Oi, Suzy!"

John turned around—and then immediately slid back as a fist flew at him with a speed he had not expected. He felt himself burst into sweat. Even with his many physical enhancements, he had only avoided that attack due to his reflexes and his MJOLNIR.

"I've seen worse. You'll do, Muppet."

The English-accented man who stood in front of the Master Chief did not show the fear of a man marching almost into certain death. With a boonie cap nonchalantly covering his head and a brown moustache that had surely been out of fashion since Otto von Bismark, the man could simply have been a woodsman going to a fishing trip. And yet, there was an air of experience about the man.

"Captain Price," the man said in lieu of an introduction (though his English accent made it sound more like Captain Prize). "You're…"

The Chief pointed at the name emblazoned on his armor (Author's note: Since this is the MJOLNIR IV as opposed to the MJOLNIR V used in Halo or the MJOLNIR VI used in Halo 2 and 3, the name is actually shown on the armor in _Halo Legends_. Keep in mind Cortana and Energy shielding only come with the V).

"Ah. John-117."

One of the ODSTs, a moustached black man, grinned. "Ah. The Master Chief. Heard about you."

"Quiet, Griggs. We're the Helljumpers, not the SPARTAN Fan Club."

"Ah damn, I knew I was in the wrong club," Griggs replied cheekily with a smile.

Captain Price gave a wry grin. "Yeah, I knew it too after you made your first jump. You should have been in the Vomiting club."

"Man you did NOT just go there—"

The corner of John-117's smiled slightly inside his helmet. These ODSTs didn't seem too bad.

* * *

><p>As the UFNSC 3rd Fleet passed over the surface of New Pendragon, landing bays opened up across the fleet, waiting for the order to launch. A few minutes later, the landing had begun. First came the ODST unit's Knightmares, clad in their bulky KARMA modules. Designed to be light, nimble and fast, Knightmare Frames did not have the heat protection that would allow them to reenter the atmosphere. As such, ODST knightmare frames were equipped with KARMA (Knightmare Atmospheric Reentry Mechanized Armor), disposable ceramic armor that would absorb heat and provide some measure of protection against a few stray plasma blasts, for situations where an Orbital Elevator or a Pelican was not available. Following the Knightmares would be the SOEIVs.<p>

The Master Chief felt a little cramped inside his SOEIV. Some moron had decided to install windows on the SOEIV. Personally, the Chief wasn't very enthusiastic about watching himself burn up in the atmosphere.

"Nervous?" Gaz, another ODST, smiled through his helmet on one of the five viewscreens that surrounded the windows. The original squad consisted of five men: Captain Price, Griggs, Gaz, Mac (an African man who was the unit Sniper) and Paulson (a taciturn Britannian-born man who hadn't said much). Griggs had told the Chief that there had been a sixth member, Massey, who had died in their last battle.

"I've done worse."

At that moment, a female voice simultaneously filled every Pod.

"ODSTs, this is _Swiftsure_ launch control. Seatbelts, everyone, and all aboard the Magic Schoolbus in 30…25…20…15…10...Kids, it's time to take chances, make mistakes, get messy! ...1."

"God, I hate that lady," Gaz muttered. Grigs was opening his mouth to say something as well—and then the breath was ripped out of him as the SOEIV was ejected out of the launch tubes.

"Here we go, muppets," Price said—and then he, too, had launched.

Suddenly, John-117 wondered if he really had done worse. Maybe he should have asked to go down with the Pelica—

"Yeeeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Griggs was clearly enjoying the ride

And then, with an almighty jolt, he was out. For a moment, he was weightless, and he would have floated if not for the elaborate harness gear. And then he saw the giant curvature of the planet on his viewscreen—just as he began to accelerate.

With an almighty, shaking jolt, the SOEIV entered the atmosphere. The Chief tried not to grit his teeth—at this rate, even his adamantium bones and wolverine claws—wait a minute.

For all the SOEIV's design, they didn't hold out all the heat, and the Chief felt his MJOLLNIR's temperature control compensating as the armor heated up. Even with the temperature control, the Chief felt himself sweating. _Could something have gone wrong?_

The image of a vaguely SPARTAN-shaped meteor flaming through the atmosphere, limbs flailing, filled his mind.

The MJOLLNIR could take a few glancing blows with a plasma pistol, but it wasn't built for a lot of heat—and anyway, the impact would probably kill him.

It wasn't any worse than any other death he could suffer; but personally, he'd rather get shot.

And then the red glow was gone, and suddenly all he could see were fluffy clouds below. The Bulky Knightmares, meanwhile, seemed to disintegrate as they purged their KARMA modules, revealing the familiar humanoid shape of the GN XIVs.

"We're through, boys," Griggs yelled, unnecessarily loudly.

The SOEIVs shot past the knightmares, which had stopped falling and were now doing weapons checks, Red GN Tau Particles emanating from their engines. The communications channel crackled.

"Lancer 1 Here to ODSTs. We'll clear out any banshees for you on the way down—we'll see you on the ground."

"Right, Lancer 1, Thanks for the Assist," Price replied.

The SOEIV punched into the clouds, and for a moment the only thing that filled the viewscreens was white mist—and then they were clear, and the only thing now below were the tiny, gray shapes of a formerly thriving metropolis.

Gaz did not seem to like what he saw. "Remind me again—why do we want this place?"

"Sightseeing—" Mac began, just as the decelerator, a parachute-like device at the top of the SOEIV, deployed. Once again, the Master Chief felt a moment of weightlessness as the SOEIV's momentum dropped. His SOEIV, built for holding a Mongoose and modified for the half-ton MJOLLNIR IV, seemed to have survived the impact.

Price's voice filled the cockpit. "Are we all clear?"

"Gaz here; I'm fine."

"Mac. I'm Alright."

"Griggs here, here for the ride."

"Paulson here. I might win the race down." Paulson's voice seemed strained, as if from a distance.

"Paulson, what's going on?"

"My decelerator didn't deploy." Despite all the heat, John-117 felt his blood turn cold. Even if a SOEIV survived Atmospheric Reentry, the rest of the way was hardly smooth sailing. At too great a velocity, the SOEIV would slam into the dirt with the force of a bullet, killing the occupant instantly. Outside, one SOEIV was clearly descending far below the rest.

"Activate your Braking Rockets and divert in your emergency fuel tank," Griggs advised grimly.

"That's not going to be enough to last you the whole way through." The Braking Rockets were used to maneuver a SOEIV at 50 Meters. The Emergency Tank was for maneuvering the SOEIV on the ground—though as a last resort they could be used to reduce momentum.

"Wait until you're 300 feet up, and then launch."

Paulson nodded. "Right. If anything goes wrong, good luc—"

"Nothing will go wrong," Price said simply.

The Chief knew, for some reason, that Paulson was smiling.

"Yessir. Here we go. Emergency Jets launching."

Down below, the distant silhouette of the SOEIV seemed to glow red as the emergency jets launched.

"I can see the buildings now…g-god, this is a disgusting city," Paulson muttered.

The Bravado in his voice was clearly forced.

"Here it comes—" Paulson took in a breath—and then there was a crunch, and the screen turned black.

"Fuck," Griggs said, quietly.

Nobody said anything else for the rest of the way down.

* * *

><p><strong>Ashford Mining – Sakuradite Mine Sector 3<strong>

**New Pendragon**

The tunnels of the Sakuradite Mines were not built for acoustics. The sounds of Gunfire bounced from wall to wall, amplifying each other eerily. It was this sound that woke Private Joseph Allen of the UFNSC Rangers.

_What—_

Plasma bolts shot over his head, as a figure in front of him calmly reloaded his revolver.

"Get up, Private Allen!"

The figure held out an open hand. Private Allen grabbed it and found himself staring into the face of General Shepherd. Allen could only throw a sloppy, exhausted salute in response to the most senior military officer on the planet.

"Get up, Private Allen! Rangers lead the way!"

Blearily, Private Allen got up. Almost mechanically, he ran towards the battle, sprinting in bursts from cover to cover, firing as he went.

They had been in battle for more than a month already. In the early days, the UFN Army had been able to hold onto a few bases above ground. He had actually gotten surface leave once. Now, all remaining UFNSC forces had been forced underground. Every day was spent either building a second line of fallback fortifications, or defending the first line against an unending horde of Covenant. The Rangers had continued to fall back, farther into the depths of the mines, trading space for lives. And now they were in Stalemate. Almost a mile into the crust of the cold planet, the long network of caves forced the Covenant to move supplies and troops by hand, limiting their forces. Meanwhile, UFNSC and UFN forces were running out of soldiers to lose and mines to retreat behind. Fighting for one's life was the new normal. With ammunition running low, many UFNSC soldiers on the front were taking to scavenging for Covenant Weapons. Allen, personally, used a plasma pistol—their charged shot was deadly in the confines of the mines, and they were less unwieldy than the powerful rifles used by the elites and less likely to overheat (UFNSC Soldiers had discovered that the best way to cook the Caffeine-spiked military coffee was to apply it to an overheated plasma rifle.) Holding the shuddering pistol with both hands, he squeezed off a charge shot at an Elite, causing him to stagger back as his shields overloaded. Tossing aside the overheated pistol, he pulled out his normal sidearm, a compact handgun. Crouching, he took a quick peek—just in time to see an aesthetically-pleasing, pink needler projectile impact into his forehead. Private Joseph Allen crumpled, one of thousands of casualties as thousands of others continued to fight on.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Swiftsure<em>**

**In orbit above New Pendragon**

"_Nuremburg_ has issued Abandon Ship orders, and is currently wiping databanks."

"_Mokele Mbembe _lost a bit of atmosphere, but damage remains negligible."

"Enemy CCS-class Analog closing in."

"Overflag Longsword Squadron currently taking heavy losses."

The bridge of the _Swiftsure_ was filled with yells, requests, and reports. This was the ordered chaos within which Vice Admiral Berlin Tursk was in his element. He turned to his XO, a Hungarian from Reach named Lech Levski. "How are we looking?"

"We've lost eight ships, soon to be nine once _Nuremburg_ evacuates."

Inside, Tursk felt a lurch—but not a huge one. Losses were unwelcome, but the fact was that they were often necessary. And this time, he had a weapon with which to extract revenge.

"Parker, reroute all auxiliary power to weapons."

Parker, his weapons officer, blinked. "Even emergency ventilation?"

"All of them."

The _Swiftsure_ was not the average flagship cruiser-class that was often used by the UFNSC. Most UFNSC ships packed Magnetic Accelerator Cannons as their main armament. Capable of propelling metal the size of a truck at many times the speed of sound, the MACs were deadly to other UFNSC ships or the ships of the separatist Insurrectionists of the pre-Covenant Era—but they lacked the same piercing power when compared to shielded covenant ships. The _Swiftsure_ packed something else, a relic of an old war that had occurred nearly half a millennia ago. Slowly, the Swiftsure's various lights powered down.

"Stark Hadron Cannons, firing."

The lights within the _Swiftsure _dimmed for a moment, the artificial gravity momentarily failing.

Hadron cannon were relics of the Black Rebellion, from an age when Sakuradite was plentiful. Powerful but extremely short-ranged, the Hadron cannon had been too small and short-ranged for a ship but far too expensive to create on a large scale. The _Swiftsure_'s main gun was an exception. The lance of reddish, blackish light crossed the gap in an instance, striking a Covenant battlecruiser. For a moment, the ship's own shields struggled to compensate—and then the cruiser exploded.

There was cheering on the bridge as the lights went back on. That one shot had left the ship immobile for a whole minute. Yet, it was a success.

Tursk turned around. "What's the status on the Covenant fleet?"

"Regrouping, sir."

Tursk nodded. "We know it works now, at least. Finish this fleet off."

"Yes, Admiral."

_Now if only the ground operation went as smoothly…_

* * *

><p><strong>New Pendragon<strong>

**Georgetown**

"I've found the SPARTAN," Price said as he made a hand motion to the Master Chief Chief.

"Good to see you, mate." Gaz, who had already exchanged his helmet for his cap, was checking his rifle.

There seemed to be a few people missing. "Where are the others?"

"Paulson's dead," Gaz said simply. "Mac and Griggs are getting what we can from his SOEIV."

Price, meanwhile, took out what looked like a small computer—a 3-d projector.

"Cute," Gaz muttered dryly as a grid began to appear.

"Just your usual radar with a few new perks," Price explained. The Chief turned with rifle ready as he heard footsteps—it was simply Mac and Griggs.

Price, meanwhile, pointed at a group of large, red dots (surrounded by a horde of smaller red dots) on the map, a mile or so from where they (represented by yellow dots) were. "Anti-air Wraiths. Lancer Squadron lost three Gundams trying to attack the place. We can't drop our Scorpions and soldiers if we don't clear the place out."

Gaz pointed at the red dots. "So what are we facing, numbers-wise?"

"Lancer squadron identified Ghosts, a few Banshees, and, obviously, the wraiths. Lots of ground units too…Elites and Jackals. No grunts for this one."

"Awww. I like those critters," Griggs muttered. The short, bipedal Grunts were hardly a match for normal UFNSC Marines—and their high, semi-squeaky voices gave them a slightly disturbing kind of cuteness.

"Not your average class of muppets, these ones. Look over there," Price remarked as he pointed below the ridge. Right on the outskirts of the dead metropolis of Georgetown was what looked like a large landing field. With four anti-air Wraiths set up at intervals around a group of building-sized, beetle-shaped buildings—Covenant Barracks. A Landing field nearby held a Banshee and a Dropship, its signature tuning-fork structure covered in snow. At the very center was the human mining facility that led into the mines. Around the base, groups of the half-reptilian, half-avian Jackals milled about in groups of five, their round energy shields glowing. For all their seeming physical frailty, they were far better marksmen than the grunts, and their senses even better. Units of Ghosts, the nimble, futuristic vehicles that the Covenant deployed as scout units, constantly left the base.

"This is bloody insane," Mac muttered. "Why couldn't they send more ODSTs to this side? I heard that all of Alpha team got dropped off on the other side of the planet."

Price shrugged. "They thought this was going to be the easy side."

"They did send a chaplain down with Alpha team, right?"

"Four ODSTs against a base," Gaz murmured.

"And the robot," Mac pointed out as he glanced at the Chief.

"And the robot," Gaz continued. "This is suicide."

Griggs grinned. "You make it sound like a bad thing."

Gaz glared at him for a moment. "Always the Optimist, eh? Let's go."

* * *

><p>The Lance of Kig-yar (Jackals) that flew across the snow plains of New Pendragon on their purple ghosts were in a tense mood. They had heard rumors about the battles in space—things were not going well on this planet, no matter how hard the Sangheili COs tried to hide it. But with nothing to do about it, the best they could do was to try to distract themselves—in this case with theological discussion. After all, with four fellows and a CO, debates could get intense.<p>

"…My question, Bor, is whether we are performing heresy in denying the human of salvation."

"They are Heretics, Fek. The Prophets decreed so, and we must eliminate them for it."

"But we have been left no chance to give them salvation if our only choice is to kill them and deny to them the Great journey."

"Because they are heretics, Fek. You are getting old."

"Bor, I am old indeed. I was alive when the Prophet of Tolerance ordered the Sangheili to study and learn the human language. When we believed that perhaps these humans could become one of us as well. Hopefully below us. Something changed. Without speaking to them, it appears the New Prophets want their destruction. Was this judgement that of the gods, or is it that of the Prophets? Was the Prophet of Tolerance doing wrong, or are our new prophets doing wrong?"

"You confuse me, Fek—" Bor held up a hand. There was something in front of them—it looked like a prone body.

"Is that—"

Pointing his ghosts cannons at the body, Fek immediately opened fire. The body flopped a little, as the smell of cooked human filled the air. Bor knew the smell.

"Heads up. There may be more of them." Activating his shield, he slowly walked up to the body, shield in front of him. Activating his plasma pistol, he crouched down to examine the body and then took a look around. A few snowdrifts lay around, nothing special—and then Fek stiffened. One snowdrift clearly covered something—something dark green and larger than a Sangheili. In fact, it just looked like—he heard a coughing sound. Fek spun around turned around—just in time to see Fek fall to the ground, his head bent at an angle that said that he was clearly dead. Almost instantly, another Kig-yar fell from his ghost, followed by two others.

The snow drift behind him stood up.

Fek turned around, plasma pistol ready—and found himself looking into the unblinking, monocular, golden eye of a demon from hell. He opened his mouth to scream—but a sound never came out.

* * *

><p>John-117 calmly threw away the body of the Jackal, its neck now bent at a ridiculous angle thanks to a well-placed blow with an assault rifle. The MA5B, commonly known for its ridiculous inaccuracy, was generally more versatile as a melee weapon than as a gun.<p>

Gaz removed his camouflage blanket as he shook snow off his shoulders. He glanced at the Chief's dull-green armor. "You really aren't very stealthy, did you know that?"

The Chief knew it. The camouflage blanket had barely covered the bulky MJOLNIR, and the fact that his MJOLNIR only came in one shade wasn't very conducive to stealth. Then again, he and all his 1000 pounds of titanium and reinforced bone and muscle were not built for stealth.

"I wonder how they taste," Griggs remarked contemplatively as, taking one of the kig-yar's plasma pistols, he unloaded the ammunition into the birdlike beast.

"Disgusting, probably."

"Nothings disgusting if you fry it in enough oil."

"It won't make fried chicken just because it looks like a bird, Griggs."

Griggs frowned. "Now that is just Racist."

Price glanced at the Ghosts. "Well, they don't exactly blend in…but neither do we." Looking around at the other ODSTs (and the Chief), he took out the projector again.

"Alright. We'll split up for this one. Mac, you'll take the long way around to one of the old Georgetown buildings and give us some sniper cover."

Mac nodded as he glanced at the skyline of Georgetown, long since buried in snow. "Sounds fun."

"Gaz, Griggs, you two are with me. We're going to tag the Target Site with a Coordinate Marker."

Griggs frowned. "A coordinate marker, sir?"

Price balanced what looked like a large magnetic plate on his palm. "Ever tried fighting a wraith? Those bastards take three or four rockets to take out. So we're getting some help from the Third Fleet. They're going to put a MAC Round into the base."

"…A MAC round?" 600-tons of Depleted Uranium shot at 40% the speed of light via an electromagnetic coilgun, a MAC round was meant to be used against spaceships. Against ground targets…

"A MAC Round," Price confirmed. "Those things are ridiculously hard to aim, so this thing gives them the coordinates for em. It also gives us a grand total of fifteen minutes to get clear."

"Stunning. I can hardly wait already."

Almost as an afterthought, Price pointed once more at the map. "We also need a way to get these ghosts off our arses."

Everyone stared at the Master Chief.

* * *

><p>Ghosts were not large vehicles. The equivalent size of an ATV (and the shape of an old 1920's racecar), they provided precious little protection for their drives. When a SPARTAN (one who was 2 inches shy of 7 feet tall even without the bulky armor) drove a Ghost, it looked like a green Rhinoceros humping a bright purple Volkswagen. Streaks of plasma shot from the cannons, tearing up whichever unfortunate Jackals or Elites that happened to be in the way (or simply running them over). The front of the vehicle had long since been artistically splattered with the blue and purple blood (belonging to Sangheili and Kig-yar, respectively) of those that hadn't jumped out of the way by the time the Sangheili leapt to their ghosts. Chased by plasma bolts, the Master Chief egged his ghost on towards the ruined streets of New Pendragon.<p>

* * *

><p>"Shit, look at him go," Griggs whistled appreciatively through binoculars as he watched the Chief from the ridge.<p>

Price, meanwhile, was on the radio. "Mac, How are you doing?"

"I'm in position. Trying to find you guys now." Clad in winter Ghillie Suits, the ODSTs would have been all but invisible to the casual observer.

Price turned to Gaz and Griggs. "Turn on your IR strobes."

In Mac's Infared sniper scope, three patches of snow started to blink as the IR Strobes activated.

"Hello, beautiful," he muttered dryly.

"I assume that means you can see us," Price's voice said.

"No, Captain," Mac replied through his scope. "I'm talking about this one Elite. The one who's walking in your direction." Indeed, an Elite in the blue uniform of a minor (a low-level officer and the lowest rung of the Elite command ladder) was walking toward the strobes.

Griggs took the chance to pipe in. "Yeah, he's quite the looker. All Mandibles and shit. Yeah, I'd hit that."

A moment later, the thin white vapor shot from one of the strobes, impacting with the Elite's head. Mac couldn't see clearly from this distance, but he was sure that he saw pieces.

"Sorry, Griggs, I already hit that."

"Man, what a hooker. Sorry about your wife, Mac."

"She was a trophy wife anyway," Mac muttered as he found his next target.

* * *

><p>On the ground, things were somewhat tenser. Whichever idiot had decided to design the 99C-S2 Anti-Matériel Sniper Rifle had decided to make every shot leave a thin vapor trail that all but gave away the sniper's position. As such, one slipup would be more than enough to betray the position of the ODSTs, Ghillie Suits or not.<p>

"Do try not to kill so many of them," Price muttered as Gaz crouched back down, having beaned a Kig-yar over the head with his rifle, "This is really bloody obvious."

"Well, there'll be less of them once they find out…"

The base, with most of its ghosts gone, was sparsely guarded, but the Elites who remained were watchful, making progress slow.

Yet, things were going fairly well.

* * *

><p>With a cough, Mac's sniper rifle put another piece of lead into the head of another Covenant member, in this case, a Kig-yar major who had been on the verge of walking into a body.<p>

"Topped him," Mac muttered as he adjusted his rifle sights. It was a stressful job, and despite the cold weather, he was sweating. Gaz, Griggs and Price were now moving through the barracks. Things were going well. And then, of course, somebody brought the bad news.

"141st, this is Overwatch. Do you read?" Overwatch was the ground forces command, located on board the _Swiftsure_.

Price, Griggs and Gaz were busy, so Mac picked up.

"This is the 141st, 8th Squad, what is it?"

"I have grave news," Overwatch said with no change of emotion, "Lancer Squadron has detected Covenant Dropships coming your way with a Banshee Escort, E.T.A. eight minutes. It's time to move."

Mac froze. _Goddamn it. _"Bloody hell, alright. We'll try to finish this as fast as possible. Is there an Exfil point that you can pull us out of?"

"Negative," Overwatch replied. "Lancer Squadron is currently busy, and we can't risk a Pelican. You`ll have to destroy the Wraiths so that Lancer Squadron can relieve you. Fall back into the city after you've set the marker."

"…yes, sir." Mac's voice was toneless.

"Good luck. Overwatch out."

As soon as Overwatch had clicked out, Mac got back on the rifle. "Captain Price! Gaz, Griggs! We've got company. Covenant Dropships, they'll be here in fourteen minutes. We need to move."

Gaz was not very happy with the news. "What about our fire support?"

"We're on our own till we take out those wraiths."

"Then what the hell we waiting for?" Grigg's figure immediately stood up. "We gotta go! Mac, cover us!"

Mac hesitated. "Sir, I still think we should be stealthy—"

"Time for stealth's gone, Mac," Price replied. "We go, put this damn thing on a Wraith, and then we run for the city. More cover there. Are we clear?"

"…yes, sir."

"Then Let's go."

* * *

><p>The Master Chief had watched old car chases in movies—Mendez loved watching war movies back on Reach. Those were exhilarating affairs—cars skidding across roads, explosions, and the roar of gunfire—it was every kid's dream.<p>

Covenant Ghosts, unlike humans Warthogs, had no tires for skidding.

Ghosts had an antigravity system that hummed like an old 21st Century Vacuum cleaner.

Plasma Cannons did not roar or explode.

Plasma cannons went pew-pew-pew.

The 26th Century Chase scenes, apparently, weren't quite the same.

He was driving a purple, iridescent floating buggy that sounded like a vacuum cleaner and went pew-pew-pew, running from other purple, floating buggies that also sounded like vacuum cleaners and went pew-pew-pew.

Somehow, this chase scene did not seem very masculine.

The streets of Georgetown were deserted. Anything that could be sold or salvaged had been removed, leaving only old, crumbling concrete buildings and a lot of snow—a silent, eerie landscape broken only by pew-pew-pew.

The Chief smiled grimly—he had led the covenant on a merry chase for a while now—it was time for him to spice up the battle. Grabbing a grenade, he quickly took a hand off the yoke to yank out the pin, hurling it backwards at the pursuing ghosts. With a satisfying bang, the two front Ghosts were caught in the explosion. Their fragile, light frames were knocked into the air, slamming into nearby walls. So far, so good.

* * *

><p>Gaz, Price and Griggs had long since switched to their SMGs as they sprinted towards the wraiths.<p>

Gaz paused from shooting a fallen Sangheili. "Why the bloody hell do we even have to get so bloody close for a weapon that's 600 tons?"

Price glanced around nervously. The remaining Covenant were now actively looking for the source of the gunfire, and it was only a matter of time before they were detected.

"High Command's got their brains up their arses, as usual."

The Wraiths, meanwhile, seemed a lot larger now than they did far away. In fact, a Wraith was nearly twice the height of a human being, dwarfing even a Warthog. Like most Covenant Weaponry, it floated. "At least it'll be easier to stick on this piece of shit," Griggs muttered as he crawled under the Wraith and attached the device. The Device powered on with a soft beep—soft, but loud enough for the Kig-yar sleeping behind the wraith to stare right into Grigg's face.

For a moment, the two stared at each other, mouths opened.

"Nice teeth," Griggs said. And then the Jackal started yelling. He didn't get very far—Price shot him a moment later, but the damage was done.

Price ripped the silencer off his SMG. "Our cover's blown! Open fire and run like hell!"

* * *

><p>"Dropped him!"<p>

"Got another one. Reloading."

All pretense of sneakiness was gone as Mac squeezed off another shot.

He cursed as he replaced the magazine.

Given that some 21st Century sniper rifles had 10, 20 clips, it was a wonder how 26th century weapons designers had settled on a rifle that left visible smoke trails and only held four bullets.

Slotting in a new Magazine, he pulled back the pin of his rifle as he stared through the scope. There seemed to be a malfunction, for everything had turned purple. Mac zoomed out—bringing the Banshee that faced him into full view.

"Motherfu—"

The fuel rod, a blob of glowing, green, radioactive gel, seemed to sail through the window, as if by slow motion. He saw it slowly coming close to the floor, touching it—and then he saw nothing at all.

* * *

><p>"What the—"<p>

The collapsed building made all but obvious what had happened to Mac.

"Their Reinforcements are here," Gaz yelled. And, indeed, Covenant Dropships were disgorging Elites, Jackals, and Grunts alike.

Price immediately reached out and held onto Griggs as he tried to run towards the building. "Griggs, we're too far to help him anyway! This place is going to get busy awfully fast!"

The plasma bolts, on the other hand, were coming awfully close, sizzling as the superheated plasma singed the very air around it.

"I figured we'd need these," Price muttered as he pulled three objects out of his bag—Jackal Shield Generators, retrieved from the Jackals they had killed earlier. With a flash of cyan, Price's shield, attached to his left arm, powered up as he stuck his pistol through the indent in the shield designed for a plasma pistol.

"Gaz, How much time do we have?"

Gaz, who had been firing around the shield, moved back in and checked the military watch on his arm. "Four minutes until the MAC Hits!"

"We can make it," Griggs murmured.

With a quick burst from Grigg's SMG, another Elite fell, grasping at its face. With a final burst of speed, the ODSTs were now clear of the base and running towards the abandoned buildings of Georgetown, plasma bolts chasing them as they went.

"We shoulda just went for the Ghosts we left behind on the ridge and then hightailed it out of there," Griggs muttered.

"Too risky," Price remarked, "There's no cover there, we'd be sitting ducks."

"Fucking banshees!" Griggs paused to reload, using his own Jackal point defense gauntlet as cover. The Banshee, its last pass unsuccessful, flew off with its signature screech, turning around for another pass.

Gaz drew out his rifle as the Banshee turned. One, two, three, four shots of the rifle went into the Banshee, with no obvious effect. As he reloaded, Captain Price stepped in front of him, shielding him against the blue plasma bolts that shot down at them. Stepping out from behind the shield again, Gaz fired one, two, three shots—and then the Banshee suddenly nosedived as its unfortunate pilot fell out, arms flailing like some kind of demonic starfish before impacting the ground with a noticeable Whump.

Price's shield, which had been glowing red for some time, fizzled and shut off—the battery had given out.

"Gaz, my shield's gone, help me out."

Gaz powered up his own retrieved Jackal shield as the three ODSTs slowly backpedaled away from the city.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Swiftsure<em>**

**In Orbit around New Pendragon**

The battle in space was nearing its end. Technologically superior but vastly outnumbered, the Covenant ships above New Pendragon had slowly crumbled. Aware that they were fighting a losing battle, the Covenant Commander had pulled back his force and retreated. It was a decision that favored both sides—the Third Fleet would have taken heavy casualties had the enemy commander decided to fight to the last—a choice that many commanders on both sides had taken. Now, though, the UFNSC _Swiftsure_ began to reorient itself. The _Swiftsure_'s prow pointed now at the surface of the planet—in fact, a certain point that had been marked by a certain group of ODSTs.

"Admiral, ready to fire," Weapons officer Parker said.

"Fire at will."

"Stark Hadron cannons firing in 5…4…3…2…1…mark."

* * *

><p>"Ten Seconds," Griggs warned.<p>

Another plasma bolt impacted into the shield, and its color faded from violet to blue—a sign that it was losing power. "We're not going to make it out at this rate!"

"Five seconds!" Griggs yelled.

"These bastards won't get off us," Gaz yelled

Price glanced up at the cloudy sky. "Forget the Covenant, get down!" Following his own advice, he went prone on the snow.

"3…2…1!" Griggs threw himself on the ground—just as the sky glowed purple. Moments later, a purple-black beam of light blew through the grounds and collided with the base. For a moment, the only sound was the sound of the beam—and then that sound was eclipsed by a roar. The roar of a baseful of Covenant being evaporated, vaporized, left with barely a trace. For ten seconds, the beam poured nonstop into the earth—and then it was gone, leaving a vast hole in the clouds.

"That's bloody outrageous, mate," Gaz murmured.

Griggs nodded. "Fuckin' Insane."

Price shrugged. "It's nice to glass the bastards for once."

He looked through the hole in the clouds at the sky and the silhouette of _Swiftsure_, pointing down at the planet like an accusing finger or a sword about to strike. The technology behind the hadron cannon had been in human grasp since the post-Sakuradite Age in the early days of the UFNSC. In those days the UFNSC had deployed a superweapon named Memento Mori against rogue nations, destroying whole cities. But ethics and the legacy of the draconian measures taken by the UFNSC in those days had always prevented humanity from using superweapons. But, as when people vowed never to go to war after the Great War, vowed never to use Nuclear weapons after the Black Rebellion and never to create a floating battle station after Damocles, humans would do what they needed to survive. And when the Covenant regularly glassed civilian populations, one small blast on a military unit was nothing. Payback was still coming.

At that moment, the sound of a Ghost caused him to turn around. They were now in open space, in the middle of the snowy plain between city and the ruined base—perfect hunting grounds for any Elite on a Ghost. "Everybody get down!"

"No end to these bastards—" Griggs raised his SMG at the nearing Ghost—and then paused.

Gaz grinned. "I can recognize that hunk of green anywhere."

The Master Chief leapt out of the Ghost as he carefully swerved it right next to the ODSTs.

"What did I miss?"

"You missed the prom," Griggs replied. "There were drinks. And hookers. And everything."

Price glanced at Griggs. "I'm guessing this is some inside joke, but what's a prom?"

Griggs sighed. "Nevermind. Let's just watch the sunset."

"How bloody romantic," Gaz remarked sardonically as the first Pelicans descended through the clouds.

* * *

><p><strong>Sumeragi Trust Sakuradite Mines<strong>

The Sumeragi Trust, which had been one of the first to mine the planet, had long since let its mines fall into disrepair. As runoff from melted snow seeped in, the Trust's abandoned tunnels had long since become completely flooded. With nearly freezing water and no lighting, it would seem suicidal to try to scuba-dive through this old tract. But this was exactly what Gary "Roach" Sanderson was about to do.

"Break time's over, Roach. Let's go."

With a careless flick, Captain John MacTavish tossed his smoking cigarette into the water as he snapped on his goggles. With a resigned sigh, Roach pulled on his goggles and scuba gear as he waded into the freezing water.

* * *

><p><strong>Unused Sound Clips from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (delete the Brackets)- [http][:][][/][www][.][youtube][.][com][/][watch][?][v][=][K6]-[076NKqwo]**

**Crossovers in This Chapter:**

**-If you don't Recognize Captain Price, you probably never played Modern Warfare before.**

**-Gaz and Griggs are from Modern Warfare 1, so newer gamers may not have met them.**

**-the Hadron Cannon hails from Code Geass.**


	5. Parody Works 1: Crackfic

**-The Melancholy of Suzumiya Haruh'ee-**

Disclaimer: The Parody Works have absolutely nothing to do with

The plot of The Spartan and the Spiral King. They are either Parodies,

Actual ideas or Crackfics. You can guess which one this is.

I actually put all of 20 minutes into giving this one an illustration (delete the brackets):

[http:][/][/][i672][.][photobucket][.][com][/][albums][/][vv88][/][MehSchoolID][/][Yeaaaaaaah][.][jpg]

I hope you guys like it ;]

When I first got into the Sanghelios National Space Academy, I thought I was on my way to a boring life. I had just gotten out of middle school, like every other Sangheili. I wasn't a great student, so I couldn't get into the Prestigious North High Military Academy—but I was perfectly happy being in the Space Academy. I was done with all the war games, time travelers, gods and Demons that others talked about. I just wanted to work on a freighter, or pilot a patrol ship in the middle of nowhere. Life would be boring, meaningless, unchanging. That was the way I wanted it.

And now I am about to go searching for Human Demons…in the middle of Sanghelios.

With a bunch of oddballs.

At the middle of the night.

And all this because I just happened to meet Suzumiya Haruh'ee.

Right now, I am in the middle of WacDonald'ee's with a bunch of four oddballs. I'm paying, of course.

Next to me is Asahina Mikuru. She's really pretty (really big mandibles), but she always gets bullied into wearing weird clothes by Haruh'ee. I hope she never discovers my pictures of her on the Academy Computer. Apparently, she's a time traveler who has to watch Haruh'ee. I met her older version—she was preeeeetty Hot. Apparently, we're friends with the Human Infidels in her future. Everything else is classified. Compared to everyone else here, she's almost normal.

Next to Mikuru is Nagato Yuk'ee. She's supposedly studying to be a fleet commander, but I don't know how she plans on leading a fleet without saying a single word. She wears glasses, but I think she's cuter without them. She's always reading some kind of text, and she doesn't say anything usually if you don't talk to her (and she only talks half the time you DO talk to her). She's apparently an AI. Some kind of Data Integrated whatever that I don't really understand. She's saved me once from being disemboweled by the Class President, who disappeared not long after, so that's cool. I don't understand, but she's here for Haruh'ee too.

Then there's Koizumi. Koizumi Itsuk'ee. He's always smiling, and I can never tell what he's thinking—all he does is follow whatever the hell Haruh'ee says. He apparently has psychic powers, and he's also there to observe Haruh'ee. He always plays chess with me, but he tends to lose…I think he uses the Grunts too much.

And, of course, there's Haruh'ee.

Pretty, given, but only from a distance. Half the school has asked her out, but nobody's lasted more than a few days, and my classmate Taniguch'ee lasted about 5 minutes (given, he's an idiot…). She's the one who came up with the Special Operations Sangheili Brigade, the SOS Brigade, in short. Of course, she and Yuk'ee are the only ones who might even vaguely qualify for being Special Operations, and she apparently rejected them too. But her gooky idea of Special Operations is to find "all the mysteries of the world," namely gods who might not have went on the Great Journey, Human Demons (they don't even know where the hell we live), the ghosts of High Charity and Zombies. Basically, things that we can spend our whole time at the academy searching for without finding.  
>Honestly, I should have known on the first day of school.<p>

"I have no interest in Ordinary Sangheili. If there are any aliens, time travelers, sliders, or Espers here, Join Me!"

Shoulda steered clear then.

Oh yes, and she happens to be god.

…yeah, that was probably a bad way to break it to you. But I heard it from a time traveler, an AI future fleet commander, and an Esper. This probably doesn't help my case at all, but it's the truth.

When other Sangheili are bored, they play holo-chess, they spar, or they go on vacations.

When she gets bored she destroys and recreates worlds.

Yuk'ee, Mikuru and Koizum'ee all expect me to keep her entertained.

Needless to say, that puts me under a little bit of pressure.

It's not even productive pressure. Thus far, the fate of our world has hinged on everything from ball games to me being almost murdered by the Previously-friendly Class President. I think I've gone through more danger in this year than half the Sangheili Navy.

But, at the same time, I can't help but like it.

It's all meaningless—but, for some reason, it gives my life meaning.

It's a good feeling—knowing that you're going somewhere, even if, at the end, the fact is that we're going nowhere.

I don't know how I live day to day like this, in this cycle, under the whims of Suzumiya Haruh'ee…

But I can't imagine living without it.

Once, I remember Haruh'ee and I got trapped in some alternate reality. Back then, Haruh'ee was ecstatic. There was a chance to explore a new world (even if, according to Yuk'ee and Itsuk'ee, she had made the whole damn thing in her mind). It was like a new chance. But I wanted to stay, even as she wanted me to come. So I kissed her. I still remember our mandibles entwining—

…Yeah, I'm about to vomit. This crackfic is over. I hope you guys were as disturbed as i was when this came up in my mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Next on Parody Works:<strong>

**Parody Work #2**

**-Pokemon Master Madoka Magica-**


	6. Chapter 5 Aran Part 1

**Chapter 5: Aran**

_"The individual soul is unbreakable and insoluble, _

_and can neither be burned or dried. _

_The soul is everlasting, present everywhere: _

_unchangeable, immovable and eternally the same."_

_-The Bhagavad Gita, 2.24_

**(Author's Preface: Hi to all of the people who read this far, and thanks for reading this fanfic up to here. On rereading my writing, I found quite a few inconsistencies with my own writing—for example, there are two characters named Taehoon in each chapter, and Jean is misidentified in some chapters as Jean-G133 instead of Jean-G108. I apologize for making mistakes such as these, and I'll try to fix them up in the future. Right now, every chapter seems to be getting longer, for some reason or another, so I'll try to limit the chapter sizes in favor of earlier updates. Please leave a review if you have the time to! Thanks, Mr. Sparkles)**

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Marco Polo<em>**

**3 Months ago**

"Attention all crew, stand by to repel borders. Repeat, all crew stand by to repel boarders."

A crowd of footsteps echoed outside of cabin 41A as a group of crewmen ran past.

"You can't do this, Rodney! Think about your family!"

Rodney Aran checked the readout on the MA5B assault rifle in his hands. 60 bullets—a full clip.

"I have to, Virginia. The crew is short on hands. They need every person they can get."

Virginia Aran shook her head tearfully. An average-sized woman with long blonde hair partially tied in a ponytail, her usually serene, angelic smile was in this case concealed by her distress. "They can send somebody else. Not you, Rodney."

Rodney forced a grin. "I'll be fine, Virginia. I got us out of K-2L…I'll get us out of this." He quickly removed and replaced the safety on the rifle to hide his agitation.

"Do you promise?"

"…I do," Rodney lied. "I promise."

With an effort, Virginia Aran smiled through her tears as she wrapped her arms around her husband. "I can't stop you, can I?"

Ignoring the tight feeling in his chest, Rodney forced himself to still smile. "I'll definitely be back. We'll get rid of these Covenant guys. We'll find somewhere new to live, and then we'll watch our baby girl grow older together. I promise."

With reluctance, he made himself pull out of their embrace as he reached into his back pocket. With sweaty, shaking hands, he pulled out what looked like a small handgun. A descendant of the Tasers of the 21st century AD (20th century ATB), the Paralyzer handgun was primarily used by law enforcement due to its ability to incapacitate anything smaller than an elephant without causing lethal harm.

"Take this, Virginia." Rodney held out the pistol, but Virginia shook her head.

"I don't need it. You`ll come back, right?" There was an almost hysterical tone in her voice.

"It's just in case. Just in case I'm busy somewhere."

"Then just stay—"

"Do it for our baby girl," Rodney said calmly as he looked into Virginia's wild eyes. Slowly, they steadied, and Virginia looked down.

"You have to come back, Rodney."

Rodney smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Of course. Now let me talk to my princess first. As a good luck charm."

Virginia nodded silently as she turned towards the inside of the cabin.

"Samus!"

Virginia joined in as, wiping her eyes, she somehow managed to return her voice to a semblance of normalcy. "Samus, come over here."

Rodney felt as if somebody had punched him in the stomach as the little, short-haired girl walked out of the bedroom. Blonde like both her parents, seven-year-old Samus Aran had the slender but pleasant face of her mother, though her eyes seemed a little more reminiscent of Rodney. She looked slightly confused as she walked up to her parents.

"You look sad, daddy."

"Yeah…daddy is a little sad because he's going to have to leave mommy and his princess for a little while," Rodney managed as he tried to keep the tears from his eyes.

"…but Daddy will be back," Rodney continued with a ragged breath. "Daddy will always be there for Samus. Wherever you are. Always, always keep that in mind."

Samus, not quite understanding, smiled reassuringly anyway. "Okay, daddy."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, daddy." With that, Samus broke into a dazzling smile—and, for a minute, Rodney was tempted to lock the cabin door, to ignore the battle going on around him and to hold his family forever. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his daughter for what he knew was probably the last time. He lifted her up to place her in the arms of her mother.

_She's so light_. _So Warm._

She and Virginia were the reasons he had to fight—even if they were the reasons that he could barely bring himself to fight. Slowly, hesitantly, Rodney placed his daughter in Virginia's arms.

"I love you, Samus," he whispered as he turned away, sliding the safety off the assault rifle.

"…I love you too, daddy," Samus replied as the door hissed closed.

For a moment, Rodney stood there as he realized that he would never hear that voice again.

_I'm sorry,Virginia…Samus…_

And then, with his heart threatening to burst from his body, Rodney left the room as he joined the assorted crewmen running towards the battle.

* * *

><p><strong>The Present Day<strong>

**UFNMC Camp Currahee**

**XF-063, AKA Onyx**

**0800 Hours**

"Oh god. Oh god. I can't feel my legs. Oh god." Sathya moaned painfully as she sat down across from Jean. CPO Mendez had been just as strict as he had been the day before, and when a hungry Sathya had failed to get out of bed, she had been promptly biffed by a stun baton.

When they came out, Kurt Ambrose had smiled to them and then put them through a hundred jumping jacks, a hundred squats, a hundred knee bends, a hundred leg lifts, and a jog that took the rest of the two and a half hours of exercise.

A few of the other members of Vasquez's dormitory had vomited. The only reason Jean hadn't was because he had nothing to vomit. He had been so hungry last night that he had tried to eat Guame. The Armadillo promptly curled up and had thus far refused to come out despite Jean's apologies.

At the end of their morning exercise, Kurt had led them to the dining hall.

"Back in my day," Kurt explained with a smile, "we had milk and crackers for breakfast."

"Back in his day, we were hunting mammoths," one of Jean's dormmates had muttered.

Thankfully breakfast consisted of bacon, Sausages, eggs, and muffins—the type of food Jean would normally eat back at home. To somebody who had went through an obstacle course, a night without dinner and a P90x course on steroids, it could well have been Nectar and Ambrosia.

"Morning," Manuel said as he sat down and began to pray for the food.

"I can't even eat half this shit," Selim muttered darkly as he sat down next to Jean.

"I'll trade my eggs for your sausage and bacon," Sathya suggested.

"Your eggs AND your muffin."

"Get your own then, bitch."

Jean smiled as Selim began another angry retort. His three teammates was as cheerful as ever.

Looking around, he realized that most of his fellow SPARTANs were sitting in groups of five—the groups they had all been sorted into previously. The Red Team had grouped together as well—he could spot team Panda Bear, team Sun Bear, Team Black Bear, Team Grizzly Bear, and Team Sloth bear sitting at various points around him.

_I guess we've drifted into groups already…_

The food, meanwhile, was gone. After fighting for an hour on an obstacle course, going a night without dinner and a session of P90x on Steroids, it was small wonder the food had promptly vanished. Selim and Sathya, who had long since put aside their differences in the interest of putting aside starvation, were also staring glumly at their empty plates.

"Sathya-G124!" Sathya looked up in surprise as somebody walked over to the table—Tseng-G242, his face as inscrutable as ever. The tray he was holding still held a bit of food.

Sathya nodded in response. "Come to have a laugh?" For all her neutral expressions, Jean knew that Sathya was spoiling for a fight. Tseng, though, seemed to have a different idea.

"I'm not very hungry right now, and I have a little left." With that, he began to scrape the contents of his plate onto Sathya's tray. Sathya looked lost for words.

"T-thanks," she stammered as she turned a reddish shade of brown. Having come from a colony where food was a luxury, her pride wasn't going to get in the way of free food—but having to rely on handouts was still demeaning.

"Oy." Out of nowhere, a hand landed on Jean's shoulder. He turned to see one of the members of Team Panda Bear with a tray of food.

"I have a stomachache," he said blandly. "Want my food?"

For a moment, Jean considered saying no—but the smell of grease was more than enough to dissuade him. It wasn't much, but it helped. Selim and Manuel seemed to have been similarly approached by members of Team Panda bear, all of which had been suddenly struck by a loss of appetite or various types of indigestion. Jean looked at the Team Panda Bear member, who looked a little wistful.

"Why are you doing this?"

The other SPARTAN shrugged ruefully. "Tseng told me to."

Jean turned to the receding back of Tseng-G242, who was leaving the dining hall. It was strange thing to do—Team Panda Bear would need as much strength as anyone else, and Team Polar Bear could give them nothing in return.

_What an odd guy._

"Errmmm…" Jean and Sathya turned as Jan-G024, the fifth member of team Panda Bear, looked around awkwardly with his tray of food. "Don't you guys have a fifth person?"

For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

Sathya looked away. "…nope. We don't have a fifth person. Keep your food." And, with that, she stood up and walked out.

"Guess it's time we go," Manuel murmured, and he left his chair with Selim. Jean stood up to go—and then paused for a moment as he caught sight of Samus where she sat, alone, at the fringe of Red team's area. He opened his mouth to say something. For a moment, he just stood there, trying to find the words to say or the courage to say them—and then he turned away, leaving the dining hall without another word.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Marco Polo<em>**

**Lifeboat Bay**

**3 Months ago**

There was a noticeable atmosphere of tension in the Lifeboat bay, a tinge of adrenaline that made the very air seem to crackle with a charge of fear. Rodney Aran`s hands, though, were steady as he gazed down the barrel of his assault rifle. Right now he was no longer Rodney Aran the father and husband, but a being that had gone to sleep years ago, the soldier who had spent five years fighting at the borders of the galaxy. The man who had singlehandedly cleared the Sakuradite Mining Colony of K-2L of the Insurrection.

"Remember, boys, fire in bursts," he said with a sly grin. He was instantly greeted with a burst of chuckles, even a bit of nervous laughter from the men crouching behind the makeshift barriers of crates. Rodney smiled. He knew that his fellow Sakuradite Miners would get the joke. Of course his men knew to fire in one-second bursts—he had fought with these men, mined with these men, and raised families with these men. Each one was a veteran, a comrade, a friend, a brother. He knew the families of each of them, had eaten in the houses of most of them, knew their children individually by name. He knew each of them was also determined, like he was, to defend their families to the end. He knew they would not disappoint him.

The UFNSC Marines with them, on the other hand, were shaking. Most of them were fresh out of training. As the UFNSC gave up the outer colonies for lost and retreated to their bastions in the Inner Colonies, the remaining UFNSC forces on the frontier were poorly-trained, poorly-equipped and heavily demoralized. Many had only just learned how to handle a rifle. The sound of grinding metal on the other end of the lifeboat bays, the sound of Covenant cutting through the bulkheads, seemed to physically cut into the Marines as they crouched.

"Men, a-aim for the Elites first when they come," an officer stammered as he tightened the grip on his shotgun.

Rodney ran over to the officer, a young man who seemed to be in his early teens, and clapped a hand on his back. The officer jumped a clear two feet, nearly banging his head on the ceiling.

"Son, calm down. Aim straight, think straight and be straight. That's all you need to do."

The soldier gave Rodney a strange look, and Rodney sighed. "Alright, I guess the joke's a little old." Five hundred years old, actually. Don't Ask, Don't Tell was long ago.

The officer gave a weak chuckle. "S-sir, am I going to die?"

Rodney shrugged. "Well, yeah. Everyone dies, whether it's falling down the stairs at 90 or getting shot. The question is," he asked, "which death do you choose?"

"N-not this one, sir."

"Then you're not going to die. Not today."

The officer blinked for a moment before breaking out into a shaky smile.

"Thank you, sir."

"Thank YOU, sir," Rodney replied as he saluted. "Now who are we facing?"

"A Covenant Navy ship, I think. Elites and grunts, mainly…probably one of the ships that attacked us at K-2L."

Rodney glanced at the officer. "You had any family on K-2L?"

"No, sir, I'm from Dotei."

Rodney frowned. Dotei, as far as he knew, hadn't fallen yet.

"You have a wife? Kids?"

"No, sir, just out of the academy."

He was about to suggest that the officer fight for his family.

"Well, screw it, son. Kick their asses for my family then."

And then the lifeboat hatch blew open with a burst of smoke as the first of the Covenant landed on board the _Marco Polo,_ to a welcoming party of gunfire.

* * *

><p><strong>The Present Day<strong>

**UFNMC Camp Currahee**

**XF-063, AKA Onyx**

**0920 Hours**

Sergeant Sergei Kamarov snapped his head down as a bullet shot over his head with a teasing whine. If he had gained anything from his time with the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, it had to be good reflexes. Like a bear's.

"_Pajalsta, detyei, _you are not shooteeng at me! You are shooteeng at targayts!"

Given, the MA5B assault rifle WAS inaccurate, but it still shocked Kamarov how a bullet that was supposed to be shot at the target in front of the shooter could stop in midair and reverse direction towards Kamarov's supposedly-safe position behind the shooting line.

"Asa-G177! Jean-G108! Adjust your aim! You must be staydy! Like Bea—" Once again, Kamarov ducked as another bullet shot past him. He decided it was probably best not to tempt fate, and that he was better off advising from behind the bulletproof riot shield he had brought. Even a bear could take only so much damage.

With shaking hands, Jean ejected the magazine as he quickly slid another one into the assault rifle. The rifle was heavy, and with trembling hands, Jean lined up the top of the gun with the target (a man-shaped panel that had been decorated with an old UFNSC Marine Corps uniform and a badly-drawn caricature of CPO Mendez) and held down the trigger. Immediately, the assault rifle leapt in his hand, slamming itself painfully against Jean's shoulder. As Jean simultaneously held down the trigger and tried to steady the rifle, a sudden burst sent the gun's muzzle pointing skywards. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Jean forced the rifle back down again—just as it suddenly fell silent, its clip expended. Three new bullet holes spread across Mendez's wooden doppelganger showed a few hits—but, for a weapon with a sixty bullet clip, it was hardly a great success. The other fifty seven were alternately spread across the floor, the wall on the other side, and raining down on the other SPARTAN-IIIs next to him.

"It could be worse," he told himself.

_Not by much, _he realized.

He glanced at his comrades on either side. An unfamiliar SPARTAN from team Sloth Bear was on side of him. He seemed to be doing well enough. On the other side was Samus—whose target seemed to have one large plate-shaped hole in the center. Neither seemed prepared to help him.

Red team had been led to the firing range, where Sergeant Kamarov had began teaching them to handle the assault rifle. Kamarov had made it seem easy, peppering his target with holes. But Kamarov hadn't told them about the ridiculous kickback that came from giving a six-year old a weapon used by grown marines.

_Well, here goes again…_

Sighing, Jean reloaded his assault rifle as he aimed down the sight again. He pulled the trigger—and the gun immediately began jerking in his arms like Guame had the time he had eaten his father's caffeine pills. The roar of the assault rifle roared through his silencing headphones, and he closed his eyes as he felt his assault rifle start to point upwards—and then, abruptly, it began to return to its original position. Jean slowly opened his eyes. A second hand was on his rifle, holding it in place and steadying until it abruptly ran out of ammunition.

"Thanks—"

Jean turned—and froze as he found himself staring into the eyes of Samus-G119.

"Reload," she said, quietly.

Mutely, Jean obeyed, reloading the rifle with arthritic, trembling hands. He raised the rifle as instructed and prepared to fire—just as Samus' hand tightened on the wrist of Jean's left hand (where it had been supporting the rifle). With a grip that felt like iron, Samus slid Jean's hand forwards, to a position closer to the edge of the rifle.

"You were holding it wrong," Samus explained as she let go. Putting one hand on Jean's head, she carefully tilted it so that it gazed down the top of the rifle.

"Fire in one-second bursts. Don't close your eyes."

Jean carefully lined up the target—and then pulled the trigger. Instantly, the air seemed to be filled with the sound of the rifle. Dazzled by the muzzle flash, Jean closed his eyes, once again feeling the rifle shooting upwards as he held down the trigger. Once again, Samus' hands steadied the rifle, tilting it back down until it exhausted itself.

"You closed your eyes," Samus explained patiently. "Watch me."

Samus held out a hand, and Jean obliged, handing her the rifle. Immediately, Samus reloaded the rifle—not with Jean's fumbling hands, but with steady hands that effortlessly removed the magazine and replaced it with a new one. Like a robot, she immediately swung down her rifle and fired a millisecond later. Jean could only stare in awe—though her body shook with the gun, she managed to hold the gun steady, firing in short bursts of about a second and a half long. When she was done, she quickly removed the magazine as she stood up. Where CPO Mendez's painted head had been, there were only wooden splinters.

"Don't be scared of the bullets and their sounds," Samus explained. "You control the gun. The gun doesn't control you. Try it again."

The second time, Jean managed to force his eyes open. The third, his grip got a little steadier.

Gradually, under Samus' watchful eye, more and more of Jean's shots began to impact into the target.

"Alright…here we go." With a practiced hand, Jean slid a new clip into the rifle as he aimed down the sight. Squeezing the trigger, he tilted the weapon downwards as the kickback began to send it skywards. As the weapon began to go out of control, he let go of the trigger, allowing it to settle back into his hands before firing again. As the rifle ran dry, Jean looked at the target, now riddled with holes. For all his shaking hands and sore shoulders, he felt as if he had accomplished something today.

"Not bad," Samus commented levelly.

"Thanks," Jean said gratefully, "I couldn't have done it without you."

Samus shrugged uncomfortably as she looked away. "You just needed a little practice."

"A little?" Jean grinned ruefully as he began to chuckle.

"Alright…maybe more than a little," Samus responded. For a moment, the corners of her mouth turned up. For a moment, it almost looked as if she had smiled.

Jean continued as he tried to coax out another smile. "But how'd you become to be so good at shooting? It's like you were an actual soldier—"

Samus suddenly froze.

For a moment, just a moment, Jean saw something in her eyes—and then it was gone, replaced by hard opaqueness. All traces of a smile had died from Samus' lips as she stood up.

"Don't worry about it." And, ignoring all of Jean's stammered apologies, she walked away from the shooting field.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Marco Polo<em>**

**Lifeboat Bay**

**3 Months ago**

The UFNSC Marine Officer had been wrong. The soldiers that poured into the _Marco Polo _was not the Covenant Navy, but Kig-yar pirates. In the early days of the Kig-yar on their home planet, Eayn, the creatures referred to by humans as Jackals and Skirmishers had been pirates, crossing Eayn's central ocean to raid each other. Their pillaging tendencies, while not overtly appreciated by the Prophets, was useful enough so that the Kig-yar were allowed to operate as privateers against the Covenant's foes. While many Kig-yar had adopted the Covenant Religion and become members of the Covenant Imperial Military, many others roved the celestial seas as pirates, raiding the odd human settlement or freighter. The troop that now raided the _Marco Polo_ was, unfortunately, one of these bands. In retrospect, many of the _Marco Polo's_ occupants realized they would have been better off fighting the Covenant Navy.

At the very least, they would have died quickly.

Rodney Aran squeezed off a burst of suppressing gunfire from his position behind a doorframe. Pulling out a grenade, he yanked the pin, tossing it at the charging Jackals before palming the airtight hydraulic door shut. A second later, the dull _whump_ of the grenade exploding echoed as the pew-pew of plasma pistols died away.

He was alone, scattered and separated from the other Marines and Miners. The crew of the UFNSC_ Marco Polo_ had initially done well holding the Jackals off at the lifeboat bay—until a boarding craft managed to cut a hole directly behind them. Scattered by the sudden attack, groups of Marines and Miners were now fighting isolated skirmishes with the Jackal Pirates.

As his panting died away, Rodney got a load of his bearings. He was somewhere on the edge of the _Marco Polo_—a four-meter thick window separated the hallway from outer space. From the window, Rodney could make out the hateful Jackal Gunship. Unlike Covenant Navy cruisers, which retained their own kind of beetlelike beauty, the Jackal pirate ship was an ugly affair, even compared to an old frigate such as the _Marco Polo_. Dark and incongruent, the ship looked like a wreck, surrounded by debris from the Marco Polo's ruptured cargo bay—pallets of Sakuradite in their fireproof containers; food supplies; what Rodney tried not to focus on but knew were bodies. Even as Rodney watched, the dim aura of light around the ship disappeared as a new group of clawlike boarding craft detached once more from their launching tubes, shooting once more for the _Marco Polo._

"Goddammit!" With a loud, snarled curse, Rodney opened fire with his assault rifle.

_How dare these bastards attack my planet?_

_How dare they attack my colleagues?_

_How dare they attack my family?_

The window splintered and groaned, but held fast, as it was supposed to. Tossing the empty assault at the window, he punched the shattered glass with an animal-like rage—punched until his fists bled, kicked until his feet went numb. With each strike, he cursed the Covenant for Invading; the UFNSC for abandoning them to the wolves; The _Marco Polo_ for not escaping; the Sumeragi Trust for making them work for pennies at K-2L; and, most of all, himself for leading his family to their deaths.

Rodney Aran had never been a religious man, but he prayed to god then; he prayed to fate, fortune, Allah, Jesus, Brahma, Buddha.

He begged for a miracle, he begged that something would happen that would save the crew of the _Marco Polo_.

Or not even the _Marco Polo_.

He pleaded for the safety of Virginia and Samus, even if it were to be exchanged for his life and that of the rest of the crew, and then he begged for forgiveness for thinking that.

He cursed them, cursed them for consigning them to this ignominious death, for giving him a moment of hope and then dashing that on the rocks.

And when he could curse no longer, he wept.

He wept because he knew that everything he did carried the futility of an ant cursing the boot that crushed it. Because he could do nothing to erase that hateful black blot in the sky.

Or could he?

For a moment, he remembered something. Something from a history lesson in the distant past. Something he had taken for granted for all his life on K-2L. A plan that was idiotic, if not insane. But at that moment, he didn't care about reason or sanity. All that mattered to him at that moment was that that plan, no matter how idiotic, how insane, how mad, was possible.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Marco Polo<em>**

**Cargo Bay**

The cargo bay of the _Marco Polo_ was a wreck. The alarms and sounds of battle had instantly vanished the moment the Vacuum door had closed behind them. Every spaceship, military or civilian, was equipped by UFNSC Regulation with EVA (Extra-Vehicular Activity) suits for extravehicular repairs or survival. Bulky and unwieldy, the EVA suit he wore wasn't going to win any awards for flexibility, but it would protect him from the cold and provide him with an air supply. Rodney had worn it back on K-2L before terraforming was complete, and he deftly steered himself into what was left of the cargo bay. Where the bay door had been there was only the starry blanket of space, struck by a glancing blow of plasma. In the chaos, many of the cargo straps had broken, and various containers formed a three-dimensional constellation that Rodney could only navigate with difficulty..

Attaching a tether hook to a cargo box, Rodney pulled himself over a box—and found himself face-to-face with what looked like a huge ball of flesh. Rodney took a sharp breath, cutting off his scream as best as he could. The EVA suit had a limited air supply, and breathing quickly would expend it rapidly.

The body seemed vaguely human—it had two arms, two limbs, a head—yet it seemed closer to an ogre than a human—it was roughly one and a half times the size of a human being—yet its eyes seemed, in comparison, miniscule.

The almost-man's mouth was open, filled with what looked like ice crystals. His eyes, seeming marbles next to the massive eye sockets, were glassy, filled with what looked like a film of bubbles.

_Ebullism_, Rodney finally remembered from his days in the UFNSC. When the pressure drops (as it does, rapidly, in the vacuum of space), liquids evaporate at lower temperatures. In space, that temperature is low enough that blood boils and forms gas bubbles—bubbles that swell the elastic human body to almost twice the size of a normal human being.

Rodney averted his eyes as he pushed the body away, using his thruster pack to prevent himself from flying in the opposite position. He dearly hoped Virginia and Samus would never see something like—he stopped himself. He couldn't be thinking of them now.

In the silence, he slowly began to pull together the Sakuradite containers in the cargo bay.

* * *

><p><strong>UFNSC <em>Marco Polo<em>**

**Engineering Section**

The Engineering Section was located in the center of the ship. Accessible only through narrow Service walkways, the section was also protected by various blast doors meant to limit engine fires, giving it additional protection. It was also where the remnants of the crew of the _Marco Polo_ prepared to make their last stand.

"Sir."

Orson Vance turned around wearily to the bloodied UFNSC Marine. Vance, a veteran of the insurrectionist conflict and a miner from K-2L, had led a group of Miners and Marines back to the Engineering section when the defense of the lifeboat bay had fallen apart. He was now de facto leader of the survivors. He nodded to the marine, a young sandy-haired man with a face full of freckles and acne.

"Ramsey, one of our guys, got here from the bridge. Captain Johansson's dead. The Jackals got in the moment we cleared our memory. It's just us now." Orson remembered this marine—just an hour ago he had been quaking in his overlarge boots. Now he was calm, his hands steady, his eyes calm but empty, numbed by the deaths of so many comrades.

"…I guess this is the end," Orson said slowly. He took a glance at the huddled women and children as he reached into his pocket. Pulling out a cigarette, he offered one to the marine.

"A fag?"

"That's against regulat—"

"Nevermind regulations, do you WANT a fag?"

"I'm a quaker—"

"Why even are you in the Marines?"

The marine smiled a wan smile. "Screw it, I'm about to die anyway."

"That's the spirit," Orson said as he handed the marine the lit cigarette. "How many of us are left?"

"eleven, twelve of us. Most of us are out of ammo. We've got a few pistols, one or two grenades…that's about it, really."

Orson whistled softly. "Damn…this really is it. How long have we got?"

The marine managed a sentence through a barrage of coughs. "We closed all the blast doors between us and them, so that gives us about ten minutes, I'd say...why?"

Orson stood up. "I'm going to spend a bit of time with my family." He paused for a moment. "I worked every day of the week back in those days," he mused. "I dreamed of one day earning us enough to get us a nice home…maybe a boring, 8-6 white-collar job, and then I could spend more time with my family. I used to come home drunk and curse everyone in those days…my family…my employers…boss Rodney…God…" Orson shook his head and smiled. "But I guess God is kind…after all, he's given me this one last chance to be with my family."

The Marine nodded slowly.

"Say, Marine…"

"Pvt. Lee, sir."

"Do you have any family? A girl?"

Private Lee shook his head and smiled sadly. "…parents didn't make it off Hat Yai, and I was never really the sociable type." He looked down—and then looked up sharply as Orson put an arm around him.

"…Then today, consider yourself part of my family. Let's go."

* * *

><p>"—El maley rachamim shochen bam'romim—"<p>

"…Allahhum maghfirlahu warhamhu wa'fu 'anhu wa 'afihee wa-akrim nuzuluhu wa was-si' mudkhalahu, waghsilhu bil…"

"… Likewise may I dedicate just as the skillful Samantabhadra…"

"— Do not leave them under the power of the enemy and do not ever forget them. Order Your Holy Angels to take and lead them to their heavenly home."

"—wa naq-qihi minal 'khataya Kama yunaq- qath thawbul abyadu minad danasi—"

" Mrithyur Maa Amritham Gamaya. Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti."

"—but let them have the Eternal Joys. Through Christ, Our Lord. Amen."

The Chaplains were out, attending to their final duties inside the Engineering Section's mess hall. Though a mess hall in name, the décor was the same as that of the rest of the Engineering section – raw steel and spartan furnishings abounded, with many surfaces simply protected by grates. Scattered throughout the hall were refugee families from K-2L, each praying to their own god or preparing in their own way. In the background, the sound of explosions and gunfire announced the incoming Jackals. To a seven year old like Samus, this was intimidating.

"Mommy…what's going on?"

She glanced up at her mother where she was fumbling with a grating.

"Nothing, honey…close your eyes."

The gunfire in the background had died away—but that threw the survivors into even greater hysterics. Suddenly, the sound of a pistol filled the room once, then again. For a moment, the whole room fell silent. Samus, like everyone else, turned to the source—"Uncle" Asger, one of the miners. He and Aunt Eva had always been a friend of the Arans, and Samus had went over with her parents for dinner many times. Though she did not get along well with his daughter, Miri, he liked how Uncle Asger always had a smile on his face.

Now, though, Uncle Asger stood like a dead man, staring down blankly at where Aunt Eva and Miri lay. Something red was coming out of Miri's head, though her eyes were closed.

The chaplain took a step forwards. "Asger, why—"

For a moment, Asger stared—and then, seeming to have made a decision, he lifted his pistol and pointed it at the side of his head. His fingers tightened on the trigger—and then a warm hand covered Samus' eyes as the sound of a gunshot resonated.

"Mom, what's going on—" Samus said as her mother grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her around. Samus opened her mouth to continue—and froze. There was something in her mother's expression that made her stop.

Behind them, screams and yells announced the final end of order. The sound of plasma was coming closer.

"Samus, listen to me." There was no longer any warmth from Virginia Aran as she looked into the eyes of her daughter—only steely resolve. She handed Samus what looked like a gun—"—Daddy's stun gun!"

For a moment, Samus' mother froze. When she finally continued, her voice had softened. "You know how to use it, right?"

Samus smiled. "Yeah, daddy taught me."

"Good. Take this and hide in there," her mother replied. Having removed a piece of grating from underneath a piece of cooking equipment, Virginia had excavated a small space underneath—enough, at any rate, to fit a small person. Under the current lighting, it'd be nearly impossible to spot.

"But what about Mommy?"

Virginia looked over her shoulder—the sound of explosions was now right outside the blast doors, where what was left of the crew and some of the older children had elected to try to make a last stand.

"Mommy will be…going somewhere," she managed, haltingly.

Samus, though, was hardly convinced. "Where?"

For a moment, Virginia struggled to find an answer. She shook her head sadly. "That doesn't matter. Promise to stay until it's all quiet, or until I tell you to come out. Do you promise that?"

"But why—"

"Promise Me!" The fierce expression on Samus' mother's face did not allow for no.

"Yes, mommy, but what about you and Daddy?" For a moment, Virginia struggled against her tears—and then she clasped Samus in a final hug, an embrace she wished she could never release, yet knew she had to release.

And then, with a blast of blue light, the blast doors collapsed under the weight of several plasma grenades.

* * *

><p>Orson Vance checked the readout on the top of his assault rifle. Only 22 rounds left. Not terrible.<p>

"Men, open fire!" The men who still had firearms opened fire on the smoky walkway as the others got ready with whatever improvised weaponry they could scrounge.

Silently, one marine pulled out a last grenade and yanked out the pin as he charged for the wall of energy shields.

"Let's do this! Turkeys, make sure you remember the name of private LEEEEEEEEEEEEEROY JENNKKKKKIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNS—" a plasma bolt hit Private Jenkins, silencing him as he fell forwards, rolling the grenade underneath the energy shield—

The explosion rocked the hallway.

* * *

><p>Virginia froze as she heard the sound of gunfire. <em>Time's up.<em>

"…I love you, honey. Now go."

Samus, though, seemed to understand the danger. "But mommy, where are you going—" Despite Virginia's efforts to push her into the enclave, Samus resisted as she tried to hug her mother once again. Finally, Virginia clasped Samus once more, tearfully in her arms.

"Mommy and Daddy will always love you, Samus. Wherever you are. Forever."

And then, with a sizzle, she discharged the loaded Paralyzer into Samus' stomach.

_I'm sorry, honey._

"I love you, honey," Virginia said as she placed the Paralyzer into her daughter's stunned hands and shoved her into the enclave and then closed the gate.

_Goodbye, Samus._

* * *

><p>As the last Marine crumpled to the ground, the Jackals scattered into the room, rasping in their almost-rasping, almost hissing language as they surveyed the scene before them in silence—a hundred men, women and hatchlings, all unresisting.<p>

They did not open fire with their plasma pistols and rifles.

For a moment, the hearts of what was left of the _Marco Polo's _passenger and crew complement were filled with hope.

_Maybe they would take prisoners_.

_Maybe this wasn't the end. _

Slowly, Father MacLeish, one of the chaplains, stood up. With both hands open, he slowly, silently walked towards the assembled Jackals.

Slowly, he extended his hand.

"Peace be unto you," he said slowly—and one of the jackals, one with a slightly more ornamental uniform and no head quills, dropped its plasma pistol to the ground.

Father MacLeish slowly smiled—a smile that was instantly cut off as the Jackal leapt onto him, sinking its mouth into his neck.

Peace was apparently not unto them.

There had been reports of Jackals eating human prisoners in the past. The Sangheili killed on sight, as was expected by their own code of honor, and the grunts were far too busy snorting Methane to care. But Jackals, naturally carnivorous beings, had no objections where fresh meat was available.

There was a moment of silence as Father MacLeish's snapped neck lolled under the weight, and then fell to the ground with a thump, the empty face still mockingly filled with a mock half-smile.

Of course, Humans would not eat venison with the buckshot still inside.

Similarly, Jackals would not eat meat that had been tainted by Plasma.

Finally, as the first screams began, the passengers of the _Marco Polo_ realized that, to the Jackals, they were not prisoners, or enemies, or even "Heretics."

They were simply fresh meat.

* * *

><p>The cruel problem with the Paralyzer was that it left the target stunned and incapacitated—but conscious. Unable to move or even to avert her eyes, Samus Aran could only watch the feeding frenzy. Not all of the Jackals were as their shipmistress in going straight for the neck. Some began with the arms or legs and went up from there.<p>

Several years of eating surplus covenant navy rations had whetted many a Kig-yar's appetite, and they gave their prey all the consideration that the nation of Japan gives to dolphins (Author's note: I'm no greenpeace vegetarian, but do consider watching _The Cove_, on what happens to the Dolphins who DON'T make it into your aquarium)—none whatsoever.

Attacked by several Kig-yar, Virginia Aran was knocked to the floor.

She knew that there was no escape.

She knew that there was no hope.

That the end would not be peaceful or even painless.

And yet, she smiled.

Smiled reassuringly at the grate that protected her daughter from this fate.

Smiled at the daughter who she had given a second chance.

A daughter she hoped—no, knew would live on.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Queen of Splendor<em>**

**Bridge**

Hok, the XO of the Kig-yar Privateer ship, sighed glumly as he sat at the helm. The other crew with him had similar feelings. Of course, the shipmistress, Chur'R-Mok, had promised that they would get their share for piloting the ship—but Hok and the other shipside crew members knew that the boarding parties would get the lion's share of the plunder, even as they would pretend they had divided the scraps evenly. Coordinating the launch and return of landing craft was all well and good, but only insofar as you got your share of the spoils. Instead, the only thing vaguely close to spoils Hok could see were the human cargo containers that floated in clumps around the _Queen of Splendor_.

"Hok, there's a bunch of containers coming this way," the weapons officer, Won, pointed out with a bored sigh. "Can I shoot it?"

"I don't mind," Hok replied, "but do YOU want the shipmistress to kill you for blowing up the cargo?"

"…fair enough," Won replied as he returned to playing with the targeting controls.

The blinking red light on the upper right of Rodney Aran's EVA suit was not a good sign. EVA suits were intended as a temporary measure in space, and the amount of oxygen held in Rodney's EVA suit was running out.

He didn't mind. He wouldn't be able to escape the explosion at any rate.

He was clinging onto a sakuradite container, one of several that he had hitched together with tethers and pushed from the cargo bay, indistinguishable from the other clumps of cargo containers floating in space. And yet, these containers were opened, revealing the stacks of pink, almost-glowing metal within. He was now only a few hundred meters from the Jackal ship, close enough to see individual windows and weapon fixtures—and the boarding craft that flew past.

The boarding craft that required the covenant ship's shields to be down.

Rodney Aran paused for a moment. He could still make it back if he kicked off from here. Even with his thruster pack, maneuvering the containers here took nearly an hour—but, unburdened by this cargo, he could always make it back to the _Marco Polo_, and exchange a certain death for an uncertain one.

He longed to go back to Virginia and Samus one more time. To embrace them forever.

But this had to be done.

Fumbling with his pack, Rodney withdrew a small object, a cylinder the length and size of a baton. Laser lighters lit cigarettes with a weak beam of concentrated light as opposed to a flame—some entrepreneur had figured it would be great for smoking in space. The entrepreneur had forgotten that there is neither enough oxygen in space to support the flame's meager oxidizing agents nor a way to smoke in space without a spacesuit.

It would be enough.

Enough to detonate the Sakuradite in an explosion that could rival a nuclear warhead.

Sakuradite was known for its pink hue and its status as a superconductor. Most of the last 500 year's worth of innovations were either Sakuradite technologies or derivatives of Sakuradite technologies. The knightmare frame/Gundam/Mobile suit, limited artificial gravity and the Hadron Cannon had all been developed from Sakuradite.

It was also notoriously unstable. Sakuradite was stored in carefully locked and temperature-controlled containers not simply because of its great cost, but also its tendency to explode with even slight environmental variations.

In the 2070s AD (2018 ATB), the early UFN had nearly been wiped out when the 99th Emperor of Britannia, Lelouch Vi Britannia (commonly referred to as the Mad Emperor) detonated the largest Sakuradite lode on earth, Mt. Fuji. The resulting nuclear explosion killed over half of the total UFN forces and much of the nearby civilian populace, not to mention a fair number of The Mad Emperor's own forces (the dramatic destruction of so much Sakuradite helped catalyze the Sakuradite wars following the death of Empress Nunnally Vi Britannia, the Centennial Empress). The amount that Rodney had on him was not nearly enough to accomplish the same effect—but the blast would be enough to make this stretch of space a graveyard—for Rodney, and for the _Queen of Splender._

Rodney looked once more, back at the _Marco Polo_, now bruised and listing—where Virginia and Samus were both waiting. Waiting for him.

"I'`m sorry, Virginia. I'm sorry, Samus…"

Rodney Aran turned his lighter towards the exposed Sakuradite.

For a moment, the Sakuradite bubbled—and then Rodney Aran disappeared, with the _Queen of Splender_, in a burst of pink, Technicolor light.

Perhaps it was Divine Mercy that allowed Rodney Aran to die happily, sincerely believing he had saved everyone when there was nobody left to save.

* * *

><p><strong>(Author's Note: I didn't intend to make this "Arc" more than one chapter, but the flashbacks ended up being a lot longer than I expected. In the interests of preventing chapters from becoming 20 pages long—the last chapter was 14—I decided to separate this chapter into two chapters to save some time. I apologize if this is disappointing in some way.)<strong>


	7. Appendix A: World History, 1500 to 2552

Appendix A: The History of the World from 1500 A.D. (1445 A.T.B)

(Excerpts from _A History of the Human Race_ by T.E. Crossroad, Anno Domini 2300, Ascension Throne Britannia 2245)

**Disclaimer: Not Yet Finished, and May spoil things for anyone who plans to but has yet to watch Code Geass or Gundam 00.**

(Author's note – In Code Geass, 0 ATB is equated with 55 BC, meaning that ATB is 55 years ahead of AD. However, the prospect of giant robots such as Knightmare Frames being introduced in 1955 and the events of Code Geass occurring in 1963 deviates too far from our world's history to be reasonable. Therefore, for balance reasons, 0 ATB is equated with 55 AD, meaning that giant robots only start being used in 2063, a lot more realistic than 1955. Moreover, the Gundam 00 events occur in 2307, but since that conflicts with the pace of development of the Halo Universe, the Halo Universe takes priority, and so the events of Gundam 00 are also pushed forwards. I apologize for any inconsistency as a result.)

Introduction

Any European could be forgiven in thinking that humanity was soon to go extinct 1,500 years after the birth of Christ and 1,555 years since King Arthur smote the forces of Julius Caesar on the Thames. Europe had just crawled out, barely alive, from the dark blanket of the Black Death, while the longest-ruling dynasty since the Roman Empire foundered in China under internal turmoil. Ottoman fleets had just devastated the Venetian Fleet at Lepanto, destroying the only Christian Navy that could stand against the Ottoman Menace that had snuffed out that last bastion of Christianity, Constantinople. The Church had dissolved into depravity as popes engaged in political intrigues and sexual debauchery. Even the Franciscan Monks and Nuns had long since become little more than whorehouses. Little wonder that many were waiting for the Return of Christ, about 1500 years late for some. And yet, the seeds of rebirth were set. In Italy, the Florentine merchants had acquired a taste for fine art. In Germany, Johannes Gutenburg continued to work on his printing Press. In Britannia, a new dynasty was born on the fields of battle—the Tudors, the greatest dynasty in all the history of England. In Hispaniola an ocean away, the first European footsteps onto the Americas echoed, for good or for evil. Civilization was on the march – and never again would it lose its momentum as it had in the Dark Ages.

The Renaissance and the Age of Exploration

(1500 – 1776 AD) / (1445 – 1721 A.T.B.)

Europe, in a way, was the perfect place for civilization to ferment. Divided into hundreds of principalities, these disunited and feuding states were always looking for ways to outdo each other, whether through new weapons, grand monuments or political might. Once their hands had tightened onto the discoveries of others (the Chinese, the great Muslim Empires, or the Greeks and Romans of old), they were eternally looking for ways to use it to their advantage. For two hundred and fifty years, Europe led the way in Innovation as Chinese Matchlock muskets became European Flintlocks, as the remedies of Baghdad began to find their way into European Apothecaries. On the Religious front, Christianity was revitalized – the reforms of St. Martin Luther and St. Ignatius Loyola brought a new vigor and light to the Decadent Holy Roman Catholic Church as the Lutheran Monks and Jesuits extended their reach into the Americas.

Britannia, meanwhile, had experienced its last changing of the guard – the Tudors, emerging over the corpse of the decaying Plantagenet dynasty. Henry VIII, considered by many the father of Modern Britannia, began the tradition of Imperial Polygamy, a seed of both safety and discord that would plague Britannia for most of its history since. When the Church objected, he proceeded to create his own church – the neutered and vetted Church of England, led of course by King Henry himself. In the hopes of supplanting the old Anno Domini calendar, Henry established his own calendar, Ascension Throne Britannia, and openly flaunted the laws of the Popes. To this day, Britannian Culture reveres Henry VIII as the Founder of the Britannian National Identity. His descendants, meanwhile, acquitted themselves well. Despite Queen Mary's attempts to undo this, her successor and sister, Queen Elizabeth, proved to be as independent a ruler as Henry VIII – and a highly popular one. When Spain attempted to return the Catholic Church to England, Elizabeth stood against the might of the Hapsburgs – and came out decisively victorious on the 8th of August in 1588 AD (1533 ATB), when the small Britannian Fleet destroyed the Spanish Armada. Never again would Catholicism be a dominant power in Britannia. Henry IX, her son, continued the Golden Age of the Tudors, cruelly and completely smashing a Scottish and Irish Rebellion (both supported by Catholic France) – and thus gaining the animosity of the Irish and Scots, to the regret of his descendants. Britannia's actions overseas were just as successful, whether it was the emergence of early colonies on the Eastern American Coast, the subjugation of the French Colonies in the Seven Years war or its early footholds in India.

The nations that would become the Chinese Federation in the 1500s remained divided. After the great voyages of Zheng He, the court had long since split between Progressives (who favored open trade and diplomatic relations with the western Barbarians) and the Conservative Mandarins (who favored Confucian ideals of self-sufficiency and isolationism). The Death of the Hongwu Emperor led to turmoil as the Conservatives and Progressives fought to put their chosen Candidate onto the Dragon Throne. For over a century, China remained divided until the reunification of 1582, presided over by the Progressive Faction. By the time Japan (under Warlord Totoyomi Hideyoshi) invaded the Joseon Dynasty of Korea, a newly proactive China helped to destroy a previously victorious Japanese army and force the Japanese back to their own lands in the Imjin War.

Enlightenment and The Age of Revolutions

(1776 – 1848 AD) / (1721 – 1793 A.T.B.)

Of all the changes wrought by words, the greatest was wrought by the Enlightenment. Once all the Greek and Roman philosophers had been read, once all the poems and epics decoded, the Europeans saw that they had seen all of its old territory – it wished for new ones. And so, starting in France and sprouting all over Europe, the Enlightenment Salons and Coffeehouses became commonplace in the cities. People talked about Voltaire, of Burke, of Rousseau, of Kant, of Bacon and Hobbes. Psychology, Economics, Existentialism, Republicanism, and so much more began to manifest. And, once injected, there is no parasite more attached, no weed as deeply rooted, no girlfriend as clingy as an Idea. The flash point finally was reached in 1776 (1721 ATB).

Though the Revolutions of Europe wrought great changes in Europe, the greatest Change by Far occurred in Britannia. The American Colonies had always felt neglected and used by mainland Britannia, sold expensive commodities in exchange for cheap raw materials when the French or the Spanish would offer far more. Moreover, they were prevented from expanding by the Proclamation of 1763, intended to foster good relations with the powerful Iroquois Confederacy. Furthermore, though they were taxed a fraction of what mainland English were taxed, they resented their obligation to a king thousands of miles away. And finally, they rebelled. Initially, the English forces were ascendant, victorious in New York, in Charleston, in Boston. And yet, at Saratoga, the defeat of General Burgyone secured the support of France. The tide began to turn, and Britannian fortunes looked doomed as the forces of Lord Cornwallis found themselves isolated at Yorktown.

Yet, that vision of victory was a façade. For Benjamin Franklin, one of the great founders of the nation, had changed sides. To this day, nobody knows exactly who and what convinced him—but the navy of François Joseph Paul, comte de Grasse, was delayed by the King's order, so that what emerged behind Yorktown was not a French Fleet sealing the kill – but the fleet of Rear Admiral Sir Thomas Graves. In desperation, the Revolutionary Forces launched a final assault—and their forces reached Yorktown itself, killing Lord Cornwallis – but at that moment, in a strategic reversal, the forces of General Benedict Arnold (one of the greatest leaders of the Rebellion) also turned. Caught in a pincer movement, the French and Rebel Colonial Force was defeated, and its greatest leader, George Washington, was killed in battle. Though the Continental congress fought on for a year more, their back was broken. On December 25th, 1782 AD (1727 ATB), King George III pardoned much of the Continental Leadership in the Christmas Pardon, and Washington's Rebellion ended. The Native Americans were perhaps the greatest winners, with Confederacy Lands protected by Imperial Order thanks to their assistance to the Britannian Army, and they escaped the fates of so many other natives (the Aztecs, the Mayans, the Incas, the Mughals) who were consigned to the scrap heap of civilization. Yet the Colonists were not the complete losers. Acquiescing to their demands, King George III gave (now Lord) Benjamin Franklin free rein to establish a government – and what resulted was the Bicameral Imperial Government – led by a Governor-General, but also ruled by an Imperial Senate and Imperial House of Lords. In fact, the Britannian Government that resulted was very much the Vision of Washington himself, who is still seen by many Britannians as a martyr. The Sons of Liberty, the masterminds behind the rebellion, faded into the background, becoming a fringe group resorting to petty acts of terrorism. Washington's Dream caused great ripples in the international community.

The Legacy of Washington's Rebellion was not over. Among others, Thomas Jefferson and some of the continental Congress had fled to France, while Hancock and Hamilton had fled to the Spanish Colonies. In South America, led by men such as Jose San Martin and Simon Bolivar (and spurred on by the Washington's Dream), overthrew their colonial governments and, for a few short years, established the Republic of Gran Colombia – a moment seen by many Historians as the beginnings of the South American National Identity. On the other hand, the technology and communication of the time was incapable of traversing the great geographical differences of Gran Colombia, and the nation soon dissolved into a few feuding nations that were easily reintegrated into the Britannian Empire.

Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry and a few of the Continental Congress members fled to France with the assistance of the Marquis de Lafayette (not a Marquis at all), where they were received as honored guests by their French contemporaries. France, embroiled in a war without victory in the Americas and now struck by famine, faced huge economic gaps between the haves and have-nots, and faith in the courts had long since faded from the time of the Sun King, Louis XIV. Under the influence of Jefferson, the French Revolted against the old Bourbons, and by the turn of the 19th century, France, too, had succumbed to revolutionary fervor. The French faced hostile regimes from Austria, Prussia, and Britannia, enemies far more formidable than the British Regulars who had faced the colonists. Yet, for all his Charisma and vision, Washington paled in terms of strategic brilliance with Napoleon Bonaparte, considered by many the greatest general since Alexander the Great. Under Napoleon, the paltry National Guard evolved into the Grande Armée, the greatest Military Force in Europe. Instead of being ragged defenders, the French were now strong, well-fed, well-trained, and proud. France proceeded to smash the armies of the Hapsburgs, the Prussians and the Spaniards. With all of Western Europe in his hands, Napoleon had only two enemies left – Britannia and Russia. Finally, in 1805 AD/1750 ATB, Napoleon launched the attack over the English Channel against the English Isles. Destroying the British Fleet at Trafalgar, the French and European Coalition allies moved north, taking London after a prolonged battle. In desperation, Queen Elizabeth III fled north to Scotland with the battered remnants of the English Army. However, the mainly Catholic Irish and Scots had not forgotten their humiliation under Elizabeth's ancestor, and the persecution enacted since Henry VIII against Catholics. They revolted in 1806 AD (1751 ATB), forming the Republics of Ireland and Scotland and forcing Elizabeth to abdicate as Queen of Scotland and Ireland, officially ending the Tudor Dynasty of England in an event referred to by Britannians as The Humiliation of Edinburgh (and by the Irish as the Glorious Revolution).

For a time, it seemed as if the fortunes of Britannia had faded to black. Their only queen held captive in Scotland, their homeland destroyed, many Britannians fell into despair. In India, backed by the Chinese Imperial Army, the Sepoys of the British East India Company revolted – and, without any troops to reinforce them, the Britannian presence in India was reduced to ash, to be replaced by Chinese Hegemony. Yet there remained hope. For Sir Ricardo von Britannia, Duke of Britannia and consort to Elizabeth, led a raid with Sir Richard Hector and the remnants of the Britannian Army, seizing Elizabeth III from the hands of the French and bundling her to the New World (at the cost of most of the remaining army). There, in the New Capital of Victoria on the banks of the Potomac, Elizabeth III was sworn in as the first Empress of the Holy Empire of Britannia. Richard Hector became the first of the Knight of Rounds, the Prestigious order of men and women sworn to defend the Imperial Throne. 7 years later, Elizabeth III, the "the Queen who loved throughout her stormy life," died in Victoria. The Anno Domini calendar was officially outlawed, to be replaced with Ascension Throne Britannia.

Meanwhile, Napoleon now stood as the leader of all of Europe – a Europe he was determined to change. Under the influence of his chief advisor, Thomas Jefferson, Napoleon instituted many reforms – the emancipation of Jews over Europe, the introduction of the Metric System, and, most importantly, the Napoleonic Code. Based on many of the ideas of Washington's Rebellion and the Enlightenment, the Napoleonic Code became the basis behind the European Union, the Constitution of the United States of Japan, and the Charter of the United Federation of Nations, among others. In its basic tenets were the natural rights of man, basic protection to women—and, most galling of all to Catholics, the separation of Church and State. At the Congress of Vienna, Napoleon introduced the Code, creating the Concert or Europe – the first truly pan-European system of government. The first Concert of Europe (to Jefferson's Horror), was a highly centralized government, headed by a General Secretary (Napoleon) and staffed in all major positions of power by his confidantes and family. With Europe secure, Napoleon sought to subjugate his last enemy, Russia. Yet, Russia had one great ally, and that was its frigid climate. Sacrificing population and food, the Russians left nothing to the French – and though the Grande Armee Won every engagement, it was overstretched, undersupplied and frostbitten. By the time Napoleon returned to Paris, the spirit of the Grande Armee was broken, and Napoleon's illusion of invincibility was shattered. And Napoleon had made many enemies. The Roman Catholic Church had been angered by the Napoleonic Code's Separation of Church and State; the Nobles of Europe resented being put under the mob and Napoleon's family; even in France, many felt like the Corsican General had gone far too far. Led by the Pope Pius VII and the Roman Catholic Church, the Seventh Coalition defeated the weary army of Napoleon at Waterloo. With his spirit broken and his dream shattered, Napoleon died under mysterious circumstances in 1815 AD (1760 ATB) en route to France, a death that conspiracy theorists suggest may have been in accordance with the last wish of Queen Elizabeth III. Her last words, after all, were "I do not forget slights to my honour."

Yet Napoleon had sown the seeds of change. Under the aging Thomas Jefferson, Ireland, Scotland, England, and France remained Republics, and the Concert of Europe remained, albeit in a much weaker form in which far more power was accorded to the individual nation in accordance to Jefferson's wishes. By establishing Pope Pius VII as the second General Secretary of the Concert of Europe, Jefferson lent credibility to the Concert. The Separation of Church and State remained in name only – Jefferson died in 1824, confident that in the days that followed, those words would ring true once again. And despite the fact that the power of the Concert would Wane following the Revolutions of 1848, the Concert of Europe remains the basis behind the European Union.

The Age of Empires – Imperialism, Nationalism and the Rise of Britannia

(1848 – 1914 AD) / (1793 – 1859 A.T.B.)

Under Emperor Ricardo Von Britannia, Britannia underwent a new Renaissance. In establishing the Imperial Throne so close to the citizenry, the human face of the Imperial Monarchy renewed faith in the Crown, and Britannia rapidly prospered. Industrialization and technological advancement surged ahead and by 1863 AD (ATB 1808), Britannia included all of North America and most of Central America. By 1914 AD (ATB 1859), Britannia had long since annexed the remnants of Gran Colombia and expanded overseas. Yet in spite of its advances, discord remained in Britannia – for in the senate, a war of words between Imperial Senator Daniel Webster and Imperial Senator John Calhoun underlay a simmering debate between North and South Britannia. Whereas the North had industrialized rapidly, the south remained devoted to cash crops, propped up by a growing population of slaves. Moreover, though those born in North America were citizens, the citizenship status of those inhabiting the Mexico Territory and inhabitants who moved into Northern Britannia came into question. In the landmark case _Juarez vs. Camden_, the Imperial Court ruled that while Slavery was against the law, that those who inhabited Numbered Areas (known as Numbers) were not officially Britannian Citizens (though it is possible for an individual with good moral and social standing to become an Honorary Citizen). However, after a period of reformation, a numbered area was capable of officially becoming a province of Britannia (with all members by default becoming citizens). In the Proclamation of Manumission in 1865 (ATB 1810), Britannia nominally manumitted all slaves in Britannian Provinces (though not in Numbered Areas). While morally pleasing to the North, the fact that these slaves were not Britannian Citizens meant they were not held by the same legal protections as citizens – as such, the South continued to exploit Blacks until the Governor-Generalship of Sir Martin Luther King.

Napoleon had planted the seeds of Revolution – and they sprouted awfully soon. In 1848, Austria, Prussia and Poland all seemed poised to become Republics—and yet each failed, as revolutionary mobs failed to form any kind of cohesive government and were easily ousted once the monarchies had regained their nerve. Yet, Napoleon had planted another seed – nationalism. There is nothing that unites like a common enemy, and with all Germans united against France, all Austrians against France and vice versa, small principalities soon saw they had much in common. In Italy, led by King Victor Emmanuel of Sardinia and spearheaded by Garibaldi's redshirts, a popular rebellion advanced on the Papal States with great success, capturing all save for Rome (protected by the French Zouaves of President/Emperor Napoleon III of France). And in Germany, a new power arose, one that rivaled France (long considered the most powerful nation in Europe. Spearheaded by Prussia, the Nation of Germany defeated Austria and the remnants of the Hapsburgs to emerge as the Second Reich under the rule of Kaiser Wilhelm and led by Otto Von Bismark. With the Secretary General (the Pope) of the Concert of Europe trapped in Rome, the Concert of Europe had long since dissolved into nothing – and finally, in 1870 (1815), France and Germany went to war. The French advanced with brave (if gaudily dressed) soldiers, superior weaponry and inept commanders. The Germans advanced with mud-colored uniforms, excellent organization and even better leadership. The French were crushed. Having to cede two of its provinces, France promptly threw out Napoleon III and became a Republic once more. Humiliated in Europe, France looked overseas, to Africa, to Indochina, to the East Indies. It touched off a craze, a craze for colonies that led to the Scramble for Africa. The Chinese Federation, torn by a Muslim rebellion in India and the Taiping Rebellion in the south, was incapable of defending Indochina from the French and Britannians, who promptly attacked each other once their lands were secure. Africa was separated into territories with little regard for those who inhabited it.

At the same time, new ideologies were springing out as the Radio and Telegraph made communications almost instantaneous. In Britannia, the Anglican Church found justification for its continued annexation of territories in Saint Charles Darwin's theory of Evolution. His ideas, intended for animals, were applied to humans – through the combination of Capitalism and Social Darwinism, Britannia went from a nation of liberators to a nation of conquerors in the space of twenty years. In Europe, the Communist Manifesto was making waves, with its calls for the violent overthrow of the rich and powerful. In Southern Britannia, the Sons of Liberty emerged with a new ideology – the rejection of all foreign, "un-britannian" races from citizenship and the expulsion of all Jews. In China and India, the Taiping Rebels preached a heavenly kingdom where all wealth is shared. In Japan, the Family Corporations, the Zaibatsu, carefully listened to foreign requests for a certain cherry-pink mineral found mainly in Japan as, in the Military, a New Kind of Samurai was training, one that would be prepared to die to bring honor to the Emperor.

In 1914 AD (1859 ATB), the world was on the verge of change. In Japan, a new, modernized nation was emerging, one which was devoted to overcoming the humiliation of the Imjin War. In France, the Revanchists cried for the blood of Germany, as Germans cried for the blood of the French. In China, internal dissent combined with industrial stagnation to make for a country neither prepared technologically nor socially to accept the changes of the coming years.

The Great War, The Second Great War, The Great Depression, The 1st Pacific War and the EU

(1914 – 1950 AD) / (1859 – 1895 A.T.B.)

In a way, the 75 years that spanned the age of upheaval were in fact the incubators for the three great Titans of the Sakuradite Age – The Holy Empire of Britannia, The Chinese Federation and the EU. Both of the latter in fact were borne through war against a common enemy, whether it be the Japanese Empire or the USSR (respectively). In fact, it can be safe to say that perhaps none of these nations could have formed without the three wars that followed.

In a way, the Great War was a continuation of the Franco-Prussian War of the 1870s. The French, humiliated but proud, were fighting to regain their honor (not to mention Alsace-Lorraine)—the Germans, to maintain their honor. Yet, this was not a regional war – this was a war that was fought between Democracy and Monarchy in many fronts – in Africa, in France, in Turkey, in Greece, and elsewhere. When Archduke Franz Ferdinand of (German-allied) Austria-Hungary was shot and killed by a Serbian nationalist, all of Europe saw war coming – and they welcomed it. The new generation had not seen war, and so they imagined the honor, the victory, the bright uniforms in the celebrations, the women. They would get none of it. In a way, the Great War was one of the most brutal in the history of Europe – The Triple Entente (France, the United Republic of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, Greece, Serbia, Russia, and later Italy, supported by Britannian "Volunteers" and mercenaries) and the Central Powers (Germany, Austria-Hungary, The Ailing Ottoman Empire, Belgrade) all attacking each other over a hundred different fronts each with little headway. This was not the gory but glorious battles of steel and armor in which one could determine whether he lived or died with his fighting skill. This was gory, alright, and there was steel and armor – but there was no glory, no fairness – the sharpshooter and the company moron were both cut down by the Machine Gun, regardless of skill. Artillery Shells killed at random, and poison gas took no prisoners. The Great War was massacre.

The Sad truth is that the end result of the war was the end of the Age of Empires. Russia imploded first, as the well-meaning but sadly inept Czar Nicholas II was forced to abdicate for what initially seemed to be a Republican Government, but later became the Soviet Union. Austria-Hungary followed – and then, out of nowhere, Ascendant Germany. The Victorious German Imperial army, disturbed by word of riots and chaos at home, paused on the Marne—and then were rapidly pushed back as French and United Republic forces pushed them back towards Germany. By the armistice in 1918, Europe was a changed nation. Germany, with its Kaiser now only a figurehead of a Constitutional Monarchy, agreed to return Alsace-Lorraine and kept its enmity, while in France, the Clemenceau government fell, reviled for its failure to push France to the gates of Berlin. Austria-hungary Collapsed (though the Ottoman Empire was rescued by Newly appointed Pasha Mustafa Kemal), the Czechs and Slovaks managed to (for a time) form a new democratic government, and Poland got its first taste of independence since the Napoleonic Wars. Meanwhile, Germany and France returned to rest their wounds, vowing to overcome all slights (real or perceived) they had received in the war.

While the great powers of Europe fought themselves into exhaustion, the big winners of the first European war were the Empire of Japan and the Holy Empire of Britannia. Untouched by the war, Britannia entered a period of great prosperity. Since its war against Spain at the beginning of the century, Britannia had obtained the Philippines, the Sandwich Islands in the Pacific and New Zealand. With new pacific ports, Britannia's vast trade network expanded into the Pacific, selling mercenaries, equipment and expertise to the weak, ailing but wealthy Chinese Federation. In the East, Britannia sold vast amounts of munitions, food and supplies to both the Entente and the Central Powers, gaining vast profits. Even after the war, Europe's economy was devastated, and Britannian farmers eagerly exploited that by growing vast surpluses to be sold overseas. It was a time when arts flourished, wages rose and novelties such as the Refrigerator, the Car, and vacations became available to the everyday man. Britannia was the most powerful nation in the world, and the Britannians knew it. Times were good, and on New Year's day of 1929 (A.T.B. 1874), the Victoria Times suggested that Britannia abolish its interest rate altogether, for "There need be no safeguard for an economy that will never fail." A few months later, the Stock Market Crashed.

The Great Depression (As its name suggests) had been coming for years. As banks freely loaned, farms freely overproduced and investors freely tossed in their life savings, a great bubble had begun to swell. If it had popped quickly, the effect may not have been so noticeable—but by 1929, it had engulfed all of Britannia, Europe, and Japan. And when it popped, it took all of these down with it. First went Britannia, stricken first by the stock market crash in New York and then by a natural (and yet manmade) disaster—the dust bowl. As banks failed, companies collapsed and men who thought their futures secure suddenly found themselves hawking apples for a few pence, great prosperity was met with Great Dearth. Farms, rendered unprofitable by the vast surplus production, were ripped off the map by tornadoes of black dust. The Administration of Emperor Francis La Britannia floundered, switching prime minister after prime minister in an attempt to deal with the rising prices, massive unemployment and protests. And, as monetary investments and aid from Britannia dried up, Europe dried up with it. The democracies of England, France, Germany, Poland, Austria, and Yugoslavia found themselves on the defensive as their measures to end the global recession came to no end. Their failure eroded national faith in Democracy, and a new force emerged in the Political stage.

The Empire of Japan, meanwhile, had entered the world stage in a Bang, defeating Russia in 1905 AD (1860 ATB) with its newly industrialized army. It turned its sights to the nation that had humiliated the armies of Totoyomi Hideyoshi in Korea – the Chinese Federation. Japan had attempted to invade China in the 1860s (1805 ATB), failing only due to the vastly greater resources of China and the leadership of General (and later Prime Minister) Lin Zexu. Now, paralyzed by rebellions in Ceylon and Southern India without and by corruption within, the Chinese Federation was in no position to resist Japan. Yet, it is likely that Japan (a constitutional monarchy like Germany) could well have remained out of China—if it hadn't been for the Great Depression. Japan's resources were not great, and it relied on trade with China, Britannia and the European colonies in Southeast Asia for raw materials. However, as Britannia asserted its mercantile strength in the Pacific, Japan found that all the raw supplies it needed were being scooped up by Britannian merchants, who could afford to pay more. Japan increasingly relied on Britannia for trade—and even that trade evaporated when the Depression hit. With China now charging higher prices, Japan's meteoric economic and Industrial growth began to slow. Japan needed raw resources—and the nearest source of these raw materials was china.

In the 1930s, Japan advanced from Annexed Korea into China, deploying machine guns and Tanks copied from German and English Republic Models against an antiquated army that still trained its soldiers in the use of the Sword and Shield. Led by a group of ambitious and skilled officers, the Japanese Kwantung Army smashed into Peking, the Northern Capital, capturing the Xingtian Emperor and forcing him to abdicate, appointing a four-year-old as a puppet emperor in his stead. However, a young, Britannian-trained Officer in the Imperial Guard named Jiang Kai-Shek, rescued Imperial Princess Zhu Haiyin and escorted her to the Southern Capital, Nanjing, where Prime Minister Sun Yat-Sen crowned her the Empress of China. However, the Japanese Army still outfought (and now outnumbered) the Chinese Army, and Nanjing could not possibly hold. Taking the empress, the court and thousands of civilians with him, newly-appointed General Jiang initiated a retreat to the countryside known today as the Long March, leaving the defense of Nanjing to the Prime Minister and what was left of the Imperial Guard. For the Japanese army, Nanjing was a pyrrhic victory. Against inferior numbers, the Imperial army was delayed for more than a month, with vast casualties that stood in contrast with most of the battles in the Chinese Campaign, where even Chinese victories were won with huge loss of life. Enraged with the deaths of so many comrades, the Kwantung army embarked on a weeklong orgy of rape and violence that was only halted when the regular Imperial Army arrived to bring order. This event, known as the Rape of Nanking, enraged observers both in China and abroad, turning international opinion against Japan and strengthening Chinese nationalism. Slowly, as the Western World began to bounce back from depression, Britannian munitions, "volunteers," and supplies began to find their way in Japanese hands. China had great strategic importance to Britannia. It was a huge market—India and china accounted for almost a third of the world's population. Moreover, China could provide a buffer for both Japan and the newly formed USSR in the North. Japan's war in China required resources, which it mainly obtained from Britannia. It was in Britannia's interests to drag the war on as long as possible. As such, trained by Britannian officers, the Chinese army slowly began to regain cohesion in its guerilla war against the Japanese army. The Japanese campaign began to bog down, slowed by sheer numbers and the vast amount of land it had to account for.

The new political force that entered the European political stage started in Italy, when the Papal States were finally united with Italy through the actions of a former soldier and journalist, Benito Mussolini. Using Veterans as their main asset, the group singlehandedly obtained the blessing of Italian King Victor Emmanuel and the Pope. The militaristic, pragmatic leadership of the Mussolini Regime seemed like a dream come true to the many postwar Veterans who felt that Democracy had failed them. In Germany as well, the culprit of the (ill-thought out) Beer Hall Putsch, an attempt to emulate Mussolini's March to Rome, a former artist named Adolf Hitler, was released from prison with his book, My Struggle (_Mein Kampf_). His oratory skills and the organizational skills of his party, the National Socialists, captured the hearts and minds of Germany, and he became Chancellor. Pushing for an aggressive policy of remilitarization, Hitler began a rearming campaign. The French and English Governments, meanwhile, chose to appease him, even as he annexed Austria, Czechoslovakia and the DMZ of the last war, the Rhineland. To the shock of the English and French Governments, Nazi Germany allied with the USSR, its ideological enemy, uniting to attack Poland in the early 1940s. This event, though, was not well-taken by either Fascists or Communists. In early 1940, a rogue Communist Assassin murdered Chancellor Adolf Hitler (regarded by many Germans today as one of the greatest leaders of Germany, despite his questionable ideology on the Jews) while meeting with erstwhile ally Benito Mussolini in Italy. As the top-down leadership of the German Government fell into Disarray, the Soviet Union fell on Poland, completely annexing it—along with the German soldiers who were supposed to be their allies. The Trotsky regime had decided to go for broke, annexing the Balkans and much of Eastern Europe. By the time the German Government reorganized, the Soviet army had already taken Prague. In a desperate move, Germany made peace with France and England, ending what had been a bloodless war to begin with and is today referred to by many as The Phony War. Under the leadership of General Erwin Rommel and Hans Guderian, the German Army finally managed to halt the Soviet Union in Germany. France and England also joined the war as the USSR invaded (and met stiff resistance) at Finland. In what today is known as the Blitzkrieg, French, remnant Polish and English forces isolated Russian Forces in Western Europe when they swept from neutral Sweden into Poland, while German forces caught them in a vicegrip. With the surrender of a significant portion of its forces, the Soviet Government negotiated a truce—a truce that led to the fall of the Trotsky Administration, replaced with the even more utilitarian and totalitarian Stalin Administration. The reformed Concert of Europe, now united around Germany, now created a new charter to form the European Union. Technologically superior but easily outmanned, the EU settled with the construction of what became known as the Iron Curtain—a vast network of walls and defenses meant to prevent the Soviet Union from entering Western Europe, igniting what became the Cold War.

Meanwhile, the situation in Japan had become dire. As Japanese troops were simply absorbed in the vast expanse of the Chinese Empire, the Japanese high command found that their supplies had been cut. Britannia had cut all trade ties with Japan, even, the precious crude oil that fueled the whole Japanese war effort. Therefore, the Japanese High Command decided it would need to fight Britannia as well. This culminated in the attack and occupation of the Sandwich Islands by Japan in the first act of the First Pacific War. Japanese Empire troops advanced across the pacific, defeating Lord MacArthur's forces in Southeast Asia and sweeping through oceania, to the point of threatening mainland Britannia itself. Yet it had overreached. Britannia had more resources, more men, and more time. For all their bravery, the Japanese were already worn out in China—they were incapable of fighting such a long war with Britannia. In the summer of 1945 (1890 ATB) Britannian troops landed in Yokohama Harbor in what is celebrated as D-Day. The young Emperor would retreat back into obscurity, denying his divine heritage and political power. Japan was forced to return all its colonies and to retreat from China. Cowed, Japan returned to a state of isolation to lick its wounds as Britannia, ascendant, now eyed its next greatest threat, the USSR.

Postwar Britannia, the Cold War and the Twilight of the Petroleum Age

(1950 – 1991 AD) / (1895 – 1936 A.T.B.)

With the war in the Pacific Winding down, Prime Minister Franklin Roosevelt was confronted with the specter of another Great Depression. The last had only truly ended with the beginning of the Pan-European War and Pacific War, and with hostilities now ceasing, Britannian soldiers would be returning home. As such, the Imperial Senate and House of Lords passed the Decree on Veteran Affairs, establishing a standing army that, in the absence of any war, would function as a public works corp. This corps singlehandedly built the New Capitol of Pendragon, replacing the old capital that had existed in Victoria on the banks of the Potomac. The peacetime maintenance of such a huge army inevitably made the military a major part of the government, facilitating the later actions of the second pacific war. In the meantime, Britannia returned to a period of great innovation and prosperity, exporting agricultural crops and military hardware to both the EU and the USSR. There was war—a minor campaign against Soviet Agitators in Korea and a war in Vietnam—but few heard of it (or the war crimes that came with it—it is believed that over ten million Vietnamese Civilians were killed in the Hanoi Rebellion when the Britannian Army deployed Napalm liberally in Vietnamese forests). This prosperity was even further heightened when Sakuradite was "discovered."

The Cold war in Europe, meanwhile, remained, a long standoff between the USSR and the EU and its two ideologies: Communism and Liberalism/Fascism. Oddly enough, this standoff led to a great increase in prestige for the Church—for, now faced with the godless commie bastards on the other side of the Iron Curtain, the populace of Europe suddenly decided the Church was not as bad as it could be after all. With a new, charismatic Polish pope named John Paul II, the Church regained prominence in Europe, with the pope (And several popes in the history of the EU) becoming the (politically weak but symbolically powerful rank of) Secretary General of the EU. Even as the USSR drifted away from its ideological dreams towards what amounted to something of a totalitarian mass serfdom, it continued its massive military buildup along the Iron Curtain. The Cold War was not a constant staring contest—there were thaws (the Prague Spring in the 1960s, when the Iron Curtain was lowered for a time) and freezes (the Svalbard Missile Crisis, when the Soviet KGB discovered EU Navy ships in the Danish island of Svalbard) as Governments and leaders changed. The USSR's vastly greater military strength was balanced by its tenuous tactical position—with the EU in the West, the Ottoman Empire in the South and the Chinese Federation in the East, it could hardly afford to slacken off). Yet, the USSR threatened Britannia as well (inspiring the Hanoi rebellion in Vietnam, the Korean War and Indian Nationalists in the Chinese Federation), and Britannia began to channel funds to the EU. Eventually, the Soviet Army leeched enough funds to start driving the vast majority of the USSR into starvation. With new, vastly more effective Sakuradite technology in the EU outstripping their USSR counterparts, the USSR began its slow collapse. With the death of Boris Yeltsin, a power struggle led to the ascension of Mikhail Gorbachev as the head of the Soviet Union. Gorbachev, an idealist who (for all its failures) still believed in the superiority of the Soviet Ideal, called for peace, reconciliation, and the end of the Iron Curtain. In a speech in the border city of Prague, Gorbachev gave the famous "Ms. Thatcher, Tear Down this Wall Speech (addressed to the President of the Republic of England and Secretary General Margaret Thatcher)" that led to the final demilitarization of the Iron Curtain in 1989 (1934 ATB). The Gorbachev Administration's move doomed its prospects, and a series of internal struggles, coups and political struggles ended with the dissolution of the United Socialist Soviet Republic and the induction of many of these nations into the EU.

The Discovery of Petroleum in Britannia at the dawn of the 20th century AD (the 1850s ATB) had gave birth to the Automobile, the Tank, toothpaste, plastics and many other innovations. For 85 years, it had spurred the formation of the Middle Eastern Federation as a small but powerful global power and the First Pacific War. However, Petroleum, by the dawn of the 1990s (the end of the 1930s ATB), seemed to be meeting its end. Noisy, dirty, and unclean, its influences were denounced for Global Warming, for its health effects, for its unsustainability, for its lack of connectivity with electricity. Electricity seemed to be the future—the new World Wide Web and the Personal Computer, both seen as precursors to the new digital age, helped reinforce this notion—even more so when International Chess Master Bobby Fischer was defeated by a computer. Yet, Electricity was simply not efficient enough for large scale technology such as ships, planes, and cars—until IBN Labs unveiled its prototype Helicopter, the Whisper.

Sakuradite was by no means a new material. First obtained by Marco Polo in the Orient (and in small quantities in places such as Stonehenge, Chichen Itza, and parts of Africa), it had been deemed The Philosopher's Stone by European Scientists. Glowing lightly with a pink glow that contributed to its name (named after the bright pink Sakura Blossoms of Japan), this highly-reactive and highly-combustible compound's status as a superconductor had been known since it almost killed Britannian Inventor Thomas Edison during the invention of the Lightbulb. Deemed too unstable for use, it had generally been used as grenade fuses or other explosive triggers in construction. In the 1970s, Britannian and European entrepreneurs had used small amounts of Sakuradite in the early satellite network and the space program, but the Whisper was the first vehicle to integrate Sakuradite technology. Built for News Networks, the vehicle integrated Sakuradite into the propulsion system, allowing for an extremely quiet helicopter (it was promptly snapped up by Drug Cartels, who used it to smuggle the illegal drug Refrain). More importantly, the Sakuradite Engine, a system named the Yggdrasil Drive, provided the potential to power even a battleship and introduced the viability of Sakuradite technology. Petroleum was still used for many consumer vehicles—but the age of Crude Oil had long since passed, and it now began its slow descent into oblivion.

The Age of Sakuradite: The Second Pacific War, The Black Rebellion and the Formation of the UFN

(1992 – 2073 AD) / (1937 – 2018 A.T.B.)

The Age of Sakuradite altered the World Political Structure. While Petroleum remained a heavily used resource, the days of prosperity for the Middle Eastern Federation began to wane. The E.U., now spanning across Eurasia, changed from a tentative ally to an erstwhile rival for the Holy Empire of Britannia, whereas the Chinese Federation, united once more, also began to reassert its strength. Japan, a humbled country in the wake of the Pacific Wars, became a proud nation once again, home to the largest lode of Sakuradite in the world. The early years of the Sakuradite Age were filled with optimism. With the USSR (the collective enemy of Britannia, the EU and the Chinese Federation) destroyed, citizens of each country looked forwards to a future of peace, prosperity and economic growth. Sakuradite was clean, it was efficient, and it seemed like the wonder drug. On the streets, phony online scams selling Sakuradite pills "Guaranteed to make you lose 40 pounds" began cropping up. This was the Great Peace, the 70-year period of prosperity, advancement and growth.

Japan was revitalized by Sakuradite. With 55% of the world's Sakuradite within the island nation, Japan suddenly became everybody's friend. Buoyed by this success, the Administration of Prime Minister Sasaki Kururugi became a success model all over the world. Using its economic prowess, Kururugi managed to halt a war between the Chinese Federation and the European Union over Mongolia, compel the Big Three to end a genocide in Rwanda in 1994 (1939 ATB). With enough money to reinvest in the newest tanks, Japan's military force was seen by many as a match for even Britannia or the EU, and more than a match for the Chinese Federation. Japan was set to become the richest nation in the world—until 2065 AD (2010 ATB).

The Chinese Federation under the Yong'An Emperor (the grandson of the Empress Zhu Haiyin and Prince Consort Jiang Kai Shek) had entered the 21st Century with a huge population and massive unrest. Since the time of the First Pacific War, the Hindus and Muslims of India had fought in a series of bloody wars, uniting time to time in order to fight against the Imperial Army. This war had not ended with the Ambitious Imperial Decree on the Glorious Partition of the Deccan, which had separated the India territory into three districts—the Hindu Autonomous Territory of India, the Muslim Territory of East Pakistan (which promptly changed its name to Bangladesh) and the Muslim Autonomous territory of Pakistan. Civil War continued in India, and order was only restored with huge loss of life on the parts of both sides and the Chinese Imperial Army. However, China also made great strides in industrialization—China's manufacturing capacity was prodigious, an event referred by most as The Great Leap Forwards. By the end of the Great peace, the Chinese Federation may not have been technologically a match of the other two of the Great Three—but, bolstered by numbers and prodigious resources, it was still capable of putting up a fight.

The European Union, like the Federation, entered the Great Peace in turmoil. As the Polish stepped across the Iron Curtain, they found a land of dearth—a land without Coca-cola, without Renault, without private stores, a colorless world of free (if run-of-the-mill), colorless apartment buildings and shabbily-dressed, colorless citizens. The EU found that it had to struggle to maintain the standard of living for the millions of Ukranians, Russians, and Chechens (among others) who had never even heard of Coca-cola. The European Union entered a period of rapid demilitarization as it diverted funds to public works and improvement projects in Eastern Europe. Yet, in a society where everybody got the same, the only way to get ahead was to fix the books, to lie, to cheat. The corruption of the Soviet Era remained in the post-Cold War Era. Billions of Euros intended for Russian peasants vanished into the air. By the time of the Second Pacific War and the Black Rebellion, the European Union was financially and militarily unprepared for War.

Britannia, meanwhile, poured much of its money into its military. Though its taxes were fairly low, the Capitalist, Social-Darwinist Britannian Government provided little to no social service coverage until the retirement age of 70. As such, it had vast funds available to fuel research, armament, public works. Britannia worked to amass the largest military in the history of the world. Yet, Britannia was not without problems. In South America, the drug Refrain had gained popularity for its ability to seal its user into happy memories. It had spread North to many Britannian Areas. By the time the Britannian Police stepped in, the Refrain trade was already a vast octopus whose tentacles reached everywhere from Azerbaijan to Zaire. Meanwhile, the intrigue that had always surrounded the Imperial Harem continued. The highly-popular and Moderate Emperor of Britannia, Richard VII was assassinated, and power struggle ensued in the back alleys of Pendragon. Only in 1994 A.T.B. (2049 AD) was power consolidated under Emperor Charles Zi Britannia.

Tensions between the Four Great Powers (The EU, the Chinese Federation, Japan and the Holy Empire of Britannia) eventually erupted in the early 2060s AD (Late 2000s ATB) as Britannia's own Sakuradite resources ran out. Desperate to fuel its growth with new Veins, Britannia searched for foreign sources, fighting a short war with the Chinese Federation over Korea's Sakuradite Resources (while Korea was incorporated as an area, the vast majority of the nation remained Chinese) and squabbling with the European Union over possible Sakuradite Mines in Africa. Japan was now led by Sasaki Kururugi's grandson, Genbu Kururugi, a hard-liner who feared the Expansion of Britannia. Using Japan's Economic Muscle in ATB 2010 (2063 AD), he ended all sales of Sakuradite to Britannia (Symbolically a blow of great nationalistic importance—after all, the First Pacific War resulted from Britannias end of all resource sales to Japan). The EU and Chinese Federation also carried out economic blockades of Britannia. Faced with this insult, Britannia lashed out, and the great, ponderous beast that was the Britannian army, asleep for over a century, roared into life in what is known as the Second Pacific War.

Japan's Army, by the standards of the 2050s, was a match for Britannia's, deploying heavy tanks, a sizeable airforce and a large navy. And initially, it was ascendant. Japanese submarines sunk the B.N.S. _Rule Britannia_, the Flagship of the Pacific Fleet, right under the nose of the Britannian High Seas Fleet. The Chinese Federation made inroads into Korea, and the EU blockaded Singapore. But the tide turned as soon as the Britannian forces came ashore. The Britannians had a new weapon—the Knightmare Frame. Running on a Yggdrasil IV Engine, these Mechanical Combat Frames were nimble enough to dodge even the heaviest tank or outrun even motorcycles. The Glasgow-type Knightmare Frame was a smashing success—a unit of five, backed by 300 Iroquois Special Forces, took the city of Nagaoka from an army of over a thousand. Only one Japanese land battle (the battle of Itsukushima) ended in victory, a victory so precious to Japanese morale that the victor, General Kyoshiro Todoh, gained the name "Todoh of Miracles." But that one miracle was not enough. With the suicide of Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi and the capitulation of the Zaibatsu Conglomerate known as Kyoto House, Japan, the Lion of the East, was subdued in less than two months. With their supply of Sakuradite threatened, the EU and the Chinese Federation concluded a hasty peace, allowing Britannia to keep the nation of Japan provided they obtained their share of the Sakuradite. Japan lost its name, its flag, its identity, all replaced with the name Area 11.

Yet, Japan had not been defeated, at least not completely. Its armed forces remained more or less complete, and its national spirit remained unbowed—like the Germans at the start of the Phony War, they believed they had been done it by conniving politicians and zaibatsu (they were coincidentally right). And so, Japanese resistance continued. Led by groups such as the Japan Liberation Front (consisting of remnants of the Japanese Army) and the Red Sun (a group of Japanese Navy and Airforce ships that had fled to China and launched hit-and-runs for a two-year run. Eventually, they were betrayed by the Eunuchs who had first housed them, and they were trapped and killed by the Britannian Navy and its Portman Knightmare Frames in Hong Kong Bay.), the Japanese resistance continued its steadily-weakening resistance. By 2017, the resistance was nearing its end. The JLF was the only organized resistance capable of putting up a fight, and they were gradually resorting to terrorism, trading lives for time. And, at that moment, a new figure appeared, a figure whose past and identity remains shrouded in mystery. The enigmatic figure known as Zero is today conjectured by historians to consist of at least three individuals. The Japanese, though, widely regard Zero as one person. Perhaps named after the nimble fighters planes of the First Pacific War, Zero was iconic primarily for his ridiculous black outfit and seeming ability to defy all odds and gain victory. Starting in 2017, he and his Resistance group, the Black Knights, integrated remnants of the resistance groups and, against all odds, humiliated the Britannian occupation force, defeating the forces of Two Royals (Prince Clovis, who was discovered killed, and Princess Cornelia at Narita). His (somewhat grandiose) call to all who believed in justice appealed to many, and volunteers from even Britannia flocked to him. Defeating both the Britannian Military and a Chinese-backed Invasion force, Zero inspired rebellions all over Britannian-held territory. However, he overextended his reach when he moved from guerrilla operations to all-out war. The Black Knights managed to rouse all of Japan into Open Rebellion, gaining the support of Kyoto House (which had been secretly funding guerilla activity for years) and the many Honorary Britannians who served in the Britannian military. And, for a time, he nearly succeeded. However, much like Washington, he was soundly defeated due to the timely arrival of reinforcements from the Mainland. Historians believe the first Zero was killed here, eliminated by the Glaston Knights. Completely Defeated, the Black Knights had lost much of their leadership, and their remaining troops retreated back into the shadows as the harsh Britannian regime changed into a draconian one. A year later, another Zero appeared, claiming to be the same Zero (Historians generally doubt this claim) and once again declaring the United States of Japan. This second Zero expanded the operations of the Black Knights beyond Area 11, performing armed interventions in Area 18 and the Chinese Federation (where they spearheaded a popular rebellion against the Eunuchs who were in power. Having reduced the Empress Jiang Lihua to a puppet ruler, they had attempted to marry her off to the Crown Prince of Britannia, Odysseus U Britannia). But Zero's ambitious were larger than simply being a folk leader—he aspired to united the world into one solid wall against Britannia.

The world on the eve of the Formation of the United Federation of Nations was a splintered world. Britannia was fighting rebellions not simply in Area 11, but in Area 18 (where religious leaders had declared an intifada), Area 6 and 12 (where the heavily Catholic populaces in both South America and the Philippines revolted) and Area 17 (Where Britannian forces were embroiled in a Jungle War with Trotskyist insurgents). Yet, Britannia's ten million man strong army remained the most powerful force on the planet, having devastated the undermanned EU Army on the French Coast and obtaining a separate peace with France and Spain. Having obtained the loyalty of the Old USSR and much of Western Europe, Britannia had essentially successfully torn one of the Big Three Apart. The European Union was, frankly, in Shambles. The leadership of Germany had been one fraught with infighting. The Eastern European states resented the hegemony of the Western Nations (which took the lion's share of investment and funds), while France felt that it had been betrayed by Germany and the English Union (both of whom had sent surprisingly small units to the French Front—the United Republic had been distracted by rumors of an invasion force headed for Ireland, and German forces were busy in Africa). The Eastern European nations had long since been looking for allies, and they found it in the UFN. The Chinese Federation, meanwhile, presented the greatest danger to Britannia. Having foiled Britannian attacks in Mongolia, Korea and on China itself and regained its vigor through the Imperial Restoration, the Federation managed to divest Britannia of Seven of its Eighteen areas (10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17 and 18). The battle lines had already been drawn. The UFN only gave them names.

The United Federation of Nations that Zero created was more of a loose alliance than a nation. Built around the Chinese Federation and its vast reserves of manpower, the UFN came to embrace 47 nations all around the world, including liberated Numbered Areas and former Colonies. Yet, Zero had been careful in picking his allies. In the liberation of Area 18 and the Muslim Holy cities of Mecca and Medina, he gained the support of the Ottoman Empire, the Balkans and Swahili-speaking East Africa. With the support of Italy and the Papal States, he had obtained the support of Catholics around the world, including the Philippines, Poland, and Northern Europe. With the Chinese Federation, he controlled a third of the World's population in China and India alone. The UFN presented the first real alliance that would ever threaten the Holy Empire of Britannia.

Led by the Black Knights, UFN Forces launched an all-out assault on Area 11, the symbolic root of the UFN. The battle, in many ways, had symbolic meaning—Britannia had deployed four Knights of Round to the battle along with much of its main force. In a daring commando raid, Black Knight Special Operations officers successfully rescued captured ace pilot Kallen Kouzuki (later Kallen Weinburg) and hijacked the Guren S.E.I.T.E.N., deploying it against the Britannian forces and killing Knight of Ten Luciano Bradley and nearly doing the same to Knight of Six (and Honorary Britannian) Suzaku Kururugi. However, in an act of desperation, Kururugi deployed a weapon that would change the course of war—the FLEIJA (pronounced as Freya, because Elevens can't speak proper English. Don't even ask for what the acronym stands for) Nuclear Warhead. Shot at random into a densely populated area such as the Tokyo Settlement, F.L.E.I.J.A. Inaugurated its birth with a total of 25 Million souls dead. Zero was wounded and died in battle—but Britannia, having lost a significant portion of its Western Army, gave Area 11 its autonomy. What followed was a seemingly inexplicable but connected line of events that perplexes historians to this day. Emperor Charles Zi Britannia disappeared overnight, to be replaced by 11th Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, a mysterious royal who had long since been given up for dead after being exiled to Japan in the Second Pacific War. He was immediately supported by the crown prince, Odysseus U Britannia (who promptly pursued his dream of fighting in the regular infantry) and all the nobles at Pendragon—an event that, like the betrayal of Benjamin Franklin, confuses Historians to no end.

Thus began the Hundred Days of Lelouch Vi Britannia. In those Hundred days, Lelouch came to abolish the Nobility (thus invalidating the House of Lords) and nationalize the major corporations of Britannia (thus invalidating the Imperial Senate, which was dominated by corporate lobbyists), systematically erasing all traces of his father and insulting just about every religion under the sun. With Suzaku Kururugi (regarded by many as the greatest Turncoat since Brutus betrayed Caesar) piloting the Lancelot Albion as the Knight of Zero (a name that many saw as an attempt to insult the memory of Zero), the Britannian army quashed all dissent—when Four Knights of Rounds led a group of Loyalists against Lelouch, they were single-handedly wiped out by the Lancelot Albion over the Arizona Desert. Now ruler of all Britannia, Lelouch demanded to join the United Federation of Nations. The EU and Chinese Federations having represented themselves in delegations separated by nations (i.e. China and India exist as two different entities on the map), the addition of Britannia as one nation would allow Britannia plurality, if not downright majority. However, the move in fact was little more than a ploy to abduct the leaders of the UFN. In response, Second Prince Schneizel Vi Britannia emerged as the leader of the UFN forces, leading his own faction of disaffected Britannians. Long seen and supported by both Britannia and the international community as a Moderate, Schneizel deployed the Second Superweapon after F.L.E.I.J.A. – the floating fortress of Damocles, an orbital flagship built to launch F.L.E.I.J.A. over a large radius. However, the Black Knights were defeated, and the global community shuddered at the specter of Lelouch (already deemed the greatest Tyrant since Genghis Khan) becoming Emperor of the World. Yet, one more time, what is believed was a third Zero emerged with another Miracle, this time somehow defying the whole Britannian Military and assassinating Emperor Lelouch as he prepared to review the execution of the UFN Leadership. Lelouch Vi Britannia died reviled by all, and today he is still considered one of the Great Villains of History (though some Revisionists and Conspiracy theorists suggest that he had planned all of this and had also been Zero.)

With the end of the war in 2073 AD (2018 ATB), Nunnally vi Britannia, Lelouch's sister (who had sided with Schneizel and the UFN and had been slated for execution) was crowned Empress, the 100th Empress of Britannia, with Schneizel now reigning as Prime Minister. With her ascension came a New Peace and the end to the unrest that marked the middle mark of the Sakuradite Age.

The Second Great Peace and The Sakuradite Wars

(2073 – 2180 AD) / (2018 – 2125 A.T.B.)

The reign of Nunnally Vi Britannia, the Centennial Empress, is seen by many as the golden age of Sakuradite, the Second Great Peace. With moderates such as Kaguya Sumeragi and Kaname Ohgi of Japan, Schniezel Vi Britannia of Britannia, Prime Minister Zhou Xianglin and Empress Jiang Lihua of China and Pope Lucius II of the reformed European Union, the world felt peace as a whole generation rested from their struggles. Britannia, which had relinquished all but its core territories (Areas 1-6), largely disbanded its sizeable army as advances were made on the ground, in the sea, and in space as early AIs (the HARO-I piloting Assist robots) and space technologies were designed. In the spirit of cooperation, the Ascension Throne Britannia system eventually fell out of use, to be replaced by the Anno Domini system used by the rest of the world. The Chinese Federation, for a long time simply an industrial power, finally joined the ranks of the First World nations. The EU, meanwhile, refined its organization, settling on a more centralized but still more democratic leadership role. Though its population began a slow decline, its Citizens' standards of living remained the highest in the world. In this time, the Big Three's space programs put people on the Moon and on the moons of Jupiter. Colony ships began to populate the inner circles of the solar system as early Terraforming systems emerged on Mars. Standards of living improved as rationing and impressments ended. It was a time of plenty, when writers truly imagined that the world had met its Happily Ever After. Like all dreams, though, the dreamer must eventually wake up—and the kick that woke the dreamers up came not long after the death of the Empress, in 2144 AD (ATB 2089). In the late years of the reign of Empress Nunnally, there had been talk about the end of the Sakuradite that had flowed endlessly from Asia. After all, Emperor Lelouch vi Britannia had activated a nuclear activation device at the very center of Mt. Fuji, the largest Sakuradite Deposit on the planet at the time, destroying much of the Sakuradite there. Yet, the problem still seemed far off—all of the Great Three had massive strategic reserves that had been hoarded from the days of the Black Rebellion. At the Kyoto Conference on Sakuradite Mining and Climate Change, ailing former Prime Minister and former leader of Kyoto House Kaguya Sumeragi gave a speech in support for alternate energy as the Keynote speaker. The Kyoto Protocol that resulted from the Conference called for greater Sakuradite efficiency through recycling old Sakuradite and for reduced spending on Knightmare and military Research (a measure that all signatories carefully ignored). Yet, even as each nation flaunted their alternative energies, they continued to consume Sakuradite at 80-90% of their pre-protocol rates, relying on new deposits (such as seabed mining and Sakuradite Refineries, which allowed a low-quality version of Sakuradite to be produced from tainted or impure lodes) to keep them alive.

Yet, the fact was that this only postponed the end—and finally, on the dawn of June 6th, 2145 AD (2090 ATB), Masao Kirihara, Chairman of the International Board on Sakuradite Consumption, announced that Japanese deposits at what remained of Mt. Fuji (previously the largest supply in the world) had ran out. The Imperial Stock Index in New York plunged 25% within 4 hours, causing regulators to call a weeklong holiday and close all stock markets. The same held true in Tokyo, Shanghai, Berlin, New Delhi, Singapore. At the beginning, China seemed to be the calm in the middle of the storm, continuing to fund its growth via a vast deposit in Tibet. Yet the fact was that Tibet's Sakuradite had long since been expended, and China was using its strategic reserves in an attempt to weather the storm and maintain its economic growth. China's farce to retain its economic strength lasted for 4 months—before news was leaked to the Media. Realizing that the game was up, the Chinese resolved to seize what Sakuradite was left in Japan. In early October, the Chinese Army began its attacks on Japan. The Third Sino-Japanese war became the first of a series of wars that became known as the Sakuradite Wars.

China was not the only nation to fall into a panic. Pakistan, which had been maintaining its stand against India through its constantly expanding Knightmare Force and F.L.E.I.J.A. stocks (it was one of several countries that had refused to give up weapons of mass destruction) fell into a panic, and in the disorder terrorists managed to detonate a F.L.E.I.J.A. on Pakistani Soil. Rather than blame their own lax security, Pakistan told the media that they had found links between the terrorists and the Indian Military, an insult that led to border clashes and finally war. The Indo-Pakistani war was one of the bloodiest in the world. As numerically superior Indian forces swarmed into Pakistan, the Pakistani government launched a last-ditch assault with F.L.E.I.J.A. Nuclear missiles, striking such major cities as Calcutta, New Delhi, and Bombay. India, easily the most populous nation in the world, fell behind the Chinese Federation and Britannia as a result of the carnage that followed. India, having conquered Pakistan, resolved to take their vengeance. Only when Russia and China stepped in did the ethnic cleansing in Pakistan cease. Russia, enticed by a share of the spoils of Japan, deserted the EU that had never quite forgiven them for their betrayal during the Black Rebellion and joined the Newly-reformed Chinese Federation in what became the Human Reform League (HRL), the first of the Big Three.

They say that a man falling off a cliff will grab a snake to survive. Outnumbered, Japan grabbed a snake, the only snake that could stand up to the Chinese Federation—Britannia. In a twist of fate, Britannian forces landed in Yokohama Bay a third time—this time to cheers and welcomes. Now matched with Britannian numbers, the HRL forces were slowly driven off Japan as Britannian forces began to land in Korea. Britannia, meanwhile, fought its own wars against the Koslovic Trotskyist rebels in South America, who were engaged in their own war with the Gran Colombian Liberation Army, a Nationalist organization that followed the Frieden semi-fascist philosophies of Post-Great War Germany. This confusing campaign, fought in the Andes and the forests of the Amazon, became known as the Rainforest Wars. The UFN, forced to relocate from Tokyo to New York City, did very little (though, in a strange act of unity, all of the Big Three sent a combined force to defeat separatists on Mars and on the Jovian Moons, landing knightmares and the precursors of the Orbital Drop Ship Troopers on Mars in what is called the Interplanetary War). In the Middle East (formerly Area 18), Britannian troops fought a war with Terrorists and religious extremists in an attempt to obtain Petroleum (which remained a heavily used, if low-tech, resource). The newly renamed AEU (Advanced European Union), meanwhile, did not respond well to Russia's desertion. The former Soviet States were torn—some, such as Georgia and Chechnya, detested Russia; some, like Estonia and Belarus, favored Russia; some, such as Ukraine and Lithuania, were heavily divided. In an effort to keep these states, the EU sent peacekeepers to some of these nations. Russia immediately sent their own peacekeepers, and the end result was that the "Peacekeepers" did their best to end any peace that existed. In a repeat of the Second Great War, Russia and the EU fought, with battles in Italy, France, and as far north as Svalbard. The third Great War was only one of many that would last until 2170.

The overall effect of the Sakuradite Wars was to completely divest the big three of their remaining strategic reserves—once committed, neither army could retreat, even when the costs of the war had long since outweighed the benefits. The Vincent-IIs and Gladstones of Britannia, Xinghus and Gun-rus of the Chinese Federation, Panzer-Hummels and Panzer-Wulfs of the EU, all of these were slowly phased out as Sakuradite supplies ran low. The Chinese Federation elected to return to older technologies, deploying the Jiachong, updates of the weapons used by the Chinese Army prior to the Sakuradite age, and the slow but powerful and cheap Fantons, bipedal walking fortresses that ran on Petroleum. Britannia deployed the Hydrogen-powered BU Realdo while the EU deployed Hellions, fighter jet-knightmare hybrids that were the descendants of the Tristan, a knightmare used by Knights of Rounds Gino Weinburg in the Black Rebellion. A world that had run more than a century on Sakuradite suddenly found itself returning to Petroleum. Time seemed to reverse as the world was forced to make do, for a few years more, with Petroleum once again. Fortunately, this (and the Sakuradite wars) was thankfully ended in 2170.

The early space programs and colony ships required massive Sakuradite-powered rockets, shuttles, and vehicles that made space exploration expensive and difficult. The energy required to overcome the Earth's gravitational pull was simply too large—in fact, most of the cost of the space programs came from overcoming gravity. The idea of an Orbital Elevator had been circulating since the First Great Peace—but no investor was about to put money into an elevator into space that would provide no immediate economic incentive. But, as always, necessity has a way of getting things done. At the end of the Rain Forest Wars, Britannia announced that it had been building the first of the Orbital Elevators in South America. Led by Doctor Ralph Eifmann, the Britannian Energy Commission detailed a plan to generate energy through a Solar grid mounted in Orbit, connected to the earth through Orbital Elevators. Without the atmosphere to weaken the power of the sun and longer than the circumference of the earth, the Solar Grid would easily produce enough energy for the whole World. Forming the Union of Solar Energy and Free Nations (the USE, though most people simply referred to it as the Britannian Union or even the Union) with Australia and Japan, Britannia became the last of the Big Three to reform and the first of them to complete an Orbital Elevator in 2174.

The possibility of an international power grid had an idealistic appeal to it, and after 20 years of war, the Big Three were willing to settle with peace. In the Callisto Treaty, the Separatists on the Jovian moons surrendered and were for a time repatriated to Colony Ships, while the HRE and the Union ended the Third Pacific War with an Armistice. The EU, financially limited and outnumbered, ceded Georgia and most of the Soviet states back to the HRL (which promptly began draconian measures against the anti-HRE activists within). By 2180, the Human Reform League had managed to complete its own Orbital Elevator as well, and the World settled into peace. But it was not the feel-good peace of the two Great Peaces, but an uneasy, watchful peace, a peace brought not by reconciliation but by exhaustion on the part of all parties involved.

Celestial Being and the formation of the UFN World Government

(2180 – 2185 AD) / (2125 – 2130 A.T.B.)

The average Historian will often tell you that the Age of Legends, the Age of Mythology, ended with the Renaissance. But the third millennium has already had its share of Legends—Zero, the mysterious hero of the Black Rebellion; Suzaku Kururugi, the Japanese-born knight of rounds who fought all his life against his own people; Hamed Al-Khalim, the Pakistani insurgent who defeated 500 Indian soldiers with 84 men in the Indo-Pakistani War; C.C., the mysterious green-haired woman who was spotted in Britannia, the Chinese Federation, and in the company of Zero himself before vanishing without a trace. Celestial Being is one such Legend.

The exact roots and history of Celestial Being remains unclear. What is known is that the group known as Celestial Being was the brainchild of Aeolia Schenburg, a renowned scientist who had researched knightmares before and after the second Pacific War and had promptly disappeared. Funded by a mix of investments, investors, and idealists, Celestial Being developed for over a century. When they emerged, though, they did so with a bang. The AEU, whose early orbital elevator remained incomplete due to a lack of investment, had attempted to compensate with Knightmare research, developing the Enact, a knightmare that, by Sakuradite age standards, could match the Vincent—a fairly extraordinary feat for a mobile suit that ran without any Sakuradite. Celestial Being drove a knightmare frame right into the exhibition. In full view of dignitaries from all around the world, Celestial Being's Knightmare (a type that would come to be called the Gundam) essentially disemboweled the Enact. At the same time, other members thwarted a terrorist attack on the HRL's Orbital Elevator. Within a month, Celestial Being had ended a civil war in Sri Lanka, humiliated the Private Military Company Trust in the EU nation of Moralia, and defeated every single knightmare and ace pilot deployed by the three nations (Knight of One Graham Acer with the Union Flag, Lt. Patrick Colasaur of France with the Enact, Soma Peries and Sergei Smirnov of the HRL Military with the Tieren). Schenburg, whose research into Knightmares had been extensive, had developed a separate line of knightmares—the Gundams used neither Sakuradite Yggdrasil Drives nor Hydrogen Plasma Jets, but a particle generator called the G.N. Drive. With a power output that dwarfed even the drives on board the Lancelot Albion, Four Knightmares managed to defeat every major military of the world.

To some, Celestial Being was the Justice League, using the great power of their Gundams for peace. To others, Celestial Being were a bunch of Vigilantes whose method of ending violence was to enact more violence. The HRE, AEU and Britannian Union all subscribed to the latter view. To elected rulers, Emperors and Prime Ministers alike, a group that could defeat a whole army by itself was a threat. Compounded by this was the fact that what was later understood to be a group of rogue Celestial Being members also drove Gundams, gundams that were promptly used on civilian populations. Doctor Ralph Eiffman, the old creator of the Solar Energy Grid, was killed when these Gundams attacked a Union military base, killing almost all personnel stationed. In Cartagena, Spain, these Gundams opened fire on a wedding, killing nearly all who attended.


End file.
